


The Last Prince of Tenebrae

by ohmyfae



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU, M/M, With guest appearances by Ardyn and Regis, endgame spoilers, gets a bit smutty later on, not entirely canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:39:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9513395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: A prompt I'm filling for the kinkmeme.Lunafreya and Ravus Nox Fleuret used to have a younger brother.Prompto Argentum used to have another name.The revelation of Prompto's origins, and his relationship to Luna through their letters, drives him to try and help Noctis achieve his destiny, no matter the cost.Beware, there are endgame spoilers throughout! (Though, I should note, some things will certainly change.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote most of this fic already on the kinkmeme--I'm editing it now and putting it up here, so if updates seem to happen VERY quickly at first, that is why. Also, apparently, I just can't keep away from lost prince narratives.

Prompto had a different name, once. It was a soft name, all rounded edges, ending with a grin. Solaris. Sol. His mother used to say that he and his sister were two halves of the same coin: Luna, with her stern dedication to her studies and loyal stewardship over her brothers, and Solaris, the ever laughing child who took nothing seriously for more than a minute. His older brother stood apart, and would say Sol’s name with exasperation more times than not, but he was the one who read to him at night and created new games to keep him interested when the days dragged on.

When the Empire came, it took five days for Sol’s name to be taken from him.

The Empire came in long lines of MT soldiers, crawling like ants over the well-kept gardens of the palace. Luna and Ravus were with their mother in town for the day, leaving their little brother with his guards and nursemaids, but there would have been no saving any of them if they had stayed. The guards didn’t stand a chance against the sharp blades of the Niflheim troopers, and the nursemaids only served as a temporary shield, cut down in a spray of hot blood that Sol could feel on his skin long after it had flaked away.

Then came the darkness, and pain, and a long, long walk down echoing floors.

He was strapped down onto a metal cot, and Sol watched as an older man in white robes emerged from the back room. He spoke in a croaking, rasping voice, like a toad, which would have made Sol giggle if he hadn’t been so frightened.

He’d tell Luna about it, when he got out.

“Excellent,” the toad-man said. He twisted Sol’s head back and forth with thin fingers. “One of the Oracle’s get? I can only imagine what he’ll become. Caius, contact Ardyn. We will need his opinion on where to move forward with this one. In the meantime, get him started on Stage Three testing.”

“Yes, sir,” said another man in white, a younger man with blonde hair like Sol’s and worried green eyes. When the toad-man left, Caius pulled a needle down from a tube that led to the ceiling, and approached the boy cautiously.

“Is it going to hurt?” Sol whispered, staring at the needle.

“Yes,” said Caius. “I’m sorry.”

On the third day, Sol started coughing up blood. Caius told him that it was normal, that the body always rejected the transfusions at first, and that Sol’s blood in particular would be more resilient than others. Sol didn’t know what half of the words meant, but nodded along as though he did, and tried not to be afraid.

On the fifth day, they took his name.

“This is what you are, now.” A new doctor was there, tapping above the raised welts on Sol’s wrist where he had tattooed a series of lines and numbers on his pink skin. He rattled off the numbers quickly. “When you are called by this number, you will answer. Do you understand?”

“No,” he said, honestly. The doctor shrugged.

“You will. Someone take the MT back to its holding cell, please.”

That was the first time he had been called an _it,_ but it wouldn’t be the last.

\---

After a year, the blood he spat on the floor of the testing room was tinged with blackness, like oil. He started to have seizures, something that startled the doctors, and he became used to the taste of a wooden gag in his teeth so that he couldn’t bite through his tongue. Caius showed up once or twice a month, and was the only one who didn’t call him _MT_ or _it_ or _the boy._ If they were alone, Caius would wipe off the blood, take out the needles, remove the electrical apparatus that they so often placed around his shoulders, and would instruct him to breathe. Just for a minute. Breathe.

A tall man with auburn hair tinted almost mauve would visit, sometimes, and he would suggest things to the toad-man that always led to the sort of pain that made him black out for days.

By the end of the second year, he no longer remembered who he had been before. But he knew the numbers that served as his name, and he knew Caius. And when Caius appeared at his cell one day, covered in blood that wasn’t black, shaking and trembling, and told him to _follow, please follow,_ he obeyed.

“I’m sorry that I can’t bring you to Tenebrae,” Caius had said, as they drove in a strange, rickety car out of Niflheim’s capital. “It’s under Imperial control now, I—“

“What’s Tenebrae?”

Caius looked at him, then, and there was pain in his eyes that he couldn’t place or understand. Then he kept driving, in silence, and didn’t say that word again.

In the end, he was given a new name. Prompto. Prompto Argentum, son of Caius Argentum, one of Insomnia’s many refugees. And he was given a room with a bed so soft it made him cry the first night he lay on it, and windows that looked out into an open sky that he remembered from somewhere, long ago.

“I’m sorry,” Caius told him, after the first night, when Prompto started coughing and shivering with a sudden chill. “It will take a few years to get it all out of your system. I’m so sorry.”

But Caius was always sorry.

 

Years later, when the worst of the recovery had passed and Prompto could go to school without spitting blood into his hands, he found the dog.

He looked at the letter that the dog’s owner had sent to him, after the puppy he’d rescued had disappeared one morning, leaving him heartbroken and anxious. The letter was on thick paper, and the script was flowing and light. But it wasn’t the handwriting that captivated him. It was the name signed at the bottom.

_Lunafreya Nox Fleuret._

Nox Fleuret.

He knew that name. He knew _her_ name. And just like that, the early years of his life that had been masked by an ocean of terror came rushing back to him. His fingers shook as he scrambled for a pen and paper, and his handwriting was an unruly scrawl. He tried to get out as much of his fragmented memories as he possibly could, and at the bottom of the page, he wrote:

_My name’s Prompto, but I had another name once. It started with an S. Attaching photo._

He shoved a photo of himself into the letter and folded it—he was chubbier now, after years of fast food and struggling through the withdrawal from the drugs he’d been fed, but he hoped that he would look familiar enough to convince her.

The letter she sent back to him was fifteen pages long.

She believed him. _She believed him._ Somewhere, hundreds of miles away in Tenebrae, Prompto had a sister and a brother. He cried for hours over the letter, and Caius found him curled up with it that night. They had a long talk, and Caius urged him to keep writing, and said that if Prompto hated him for keeping him from Tenebrae, he understood.

Prompto didn’t hate him, but Caius didn’t look convinced.

So Prompto started writing back. Between the two of them, they wrote hundreds of pages, back and forth, and Prompto started going out and trying to find new things to tell her about _his_ life so she didn’t get too bored talking about hers. He started running, because he thought Ravus might like that, and he started eating better, because he didn’t feel so tired anymore. He read books on the Astrals in the public library and watched Prince Noctis from the other end of the classroom, wondering how on earth this quiet, dark-haired boy could have the sort of destiny that Luna spoke of in her letters. He couldn’t possibly be prepared for it, not when Luna was trapped in Tenebrae and unable to help.

But _Prompto_ wasn’t trapped. _He_ could help prepare the prince in Luna’s stead. He just had to make sure he was ready, first.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Noctis met Prompto Argentum, the crown prince of Lucis tripped over an exercise hurdle and went sprawling in the dirt.

Not that anyone could blame him, if they knew why. When the blonde fifteen-year-old turned the corner and waved at him, easy as anything, Noct’s brain had short-circuited as he thought, _Luna?_ It had to be the hair, or the eyes, the way the guy’s eyelids seemed to flutter lazily and his lips quirk in a familiar sideways tilt. But his chin was narrower, and he had a mass of dark freckles and, and obviously Noct was just, just _distracted,_ and—

Then the hurdle hit his knees, and the rest was history.

“Oh, dude.” The blonde leaned over him, hands extended, and his smile was much too… _much_ to be fair. “That was _epic._ ”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” grumbled Noct, taking the blonde’s hands. He was surprisingly strong for someone who looked so scrawny, and Noct could see wiry muscles straining under the jacket of his school uniform as he hauled him up.

“Okay, let’s start over,” the guy said. “I’m Prompto. Nice to meet you, Noctis.” He slapped a hand on Noct’s back, and just like that, Noct had made a friend.

A pretty _weird_ friend, it turned out, but then, Noct didn’t have much basis for comparison.

Noct would drag Prompto to the arcade sometimes, when he didn’t want to think about school, Iggy’s reports from the Citadel, or the sword practice with Gladio he was skipping out on. Other times, Prompto would suggest they people watch, and he’d show him photos of things he’d seen on the way to school as they sat at food truck dining tables.

Now and then, Prompto would get quiet, and stare at Noct oddly, almost searchingly. He had a sort of pensive, faraway look in his eyes then, and it made Noct think of the way photographers were always trying to guide him to look more “respectable” for the camera. Sometimes, he’d catch himself reaching out to touch the loose, light strands of Prompto’s hair, or brush the cloud of freckles on his cheeks, and had to stop himself before he went too far.

When Prompto got like that, he tended to become pretty philosophic.

“You ever think about the Astrals?” he asked one day, as they leaned back on the slope leading down to a canal. Noct raised his eyebrows.

“Not really. Luna—A girl I met once, she talked about them a bit.”

Prompto gave him a funny look at that.

“Well... They’re pretty powerful, right?” Prompto said. Noct shrugged. “I heard about how the king has to form covenants to fight with them, sort of?”

“Ugh, yes.” Noct let his head fall back on the grass. “Some kind of deal I have to make? I don’t know.”

“I read about it,” said Prompto. “It’s pretty rough, dude. You gotta be on your A game for it.”

“And I’m not on my A game?”

Prompto laughed and shoved Noct a little. “I heard there’s a thing you can do, though, if you want. To make it easier. It’s supposed to be like, channeling your magic or something.”

Noct looked up at him. “What kind of thing? Is it boring? It _sounds_ boring.”

“Probably. Wanna try? Worst thing that can happen is you set the field on fire.”

Noct didn’t want to try, not really, but when Prompto was giving him that wide-eyed, hopeful look…

“Fine.”

And that’s how Noct ended up sitting knee to knee with his best friend in the grass, holding his hands and closing his eyes.

“Uh…” He sincerely hoped that Prompto was closing his eyes, too, because he was pretty sure that his face was red enough to be a beacon for the surrounding borough.

“It’s fine, bro. Breathe in for eight seconds, hold for eight seconds, breathe out.” His voice took on a dreamy quality, and Noct found himself instinctively responding to that soft tone. “Imagine your magic is spread around you like a dome. Call it to you.”

Noct took a breath, and felt the fizz of magic over his skin.

“Okay. Now set your hands on fire.”

“ _What._ ” Noct opened his eyes and glared at Prompto, who was smiling at him wickedly. “Are you fucking with me?”

“No, set your hands on fire. But _don’t_ burn mine.”

“I don’t think I can do that, man.”

Prompto let go of his hands, and Noct felt a tug in his chest that didn’t have anything to do with magic. “Okay.” His friend’s fingers hovered a few inches above his own. “Try it this way.”

Noct stared at him, disbelieving, and pulled fire to his fingers. The flames flickered just at Prompto’s fingertips, but he didn’t pull away.

“Yeah,” Prompto said, grinning broadly. “That’s great.”

“How does this h—“

“Mouth closed, bro.”

Noct scowled, and Prompto laughed. After a minute of this, Prompto sighed and sat back. “Okay, that’s good. If you keep doing that, you’ll have enough control to build a wall of magic that can make the power of the covenant hurt less.”

“According to that book you read.” Noct doused his magic.

“Yeah.” Prompto leaned forward, and for one dizzying moment, their noses were close enough to touch. “Wanna try it again tomorrow?”

_Not really,_ said Noct’s brain.

“Sure,” said Noct’s traitorous mouth. Prompto smiled at him again, and his lashes looked so fine, his lips soft, and Noct knew in that moment that he was so, so screwed.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next year or so, Noct steadily gained a grip on his magic. Prompto excitedly sent letters to Luna explaining their impromptu lessons, and Luna sent letters back suggesting things that Prompto could bring up that would make Noct more emotionally prepared, at least, for the burden of what was to come.

It was much easier to plan on paper, though. Noct hated the idea of his duty as a prince. Ignis, his friend and advisor, had to drag him into paying attention to daily reports. It was easier for him to practice with Gladio, but any talk of destiny or prophecy turned Noct into a closed door with no handle. After a while, Prompto found that the best way to get Noct interested at all was to keep him from withdrawing into his own head, where isolation and loneliness could turn any obligation into an impossible task. So Prompto didn’t really have to do that much. Just, as Luna had urged him, be his friend.

The more he hung out with Noctis, though, the more Prompto slowly started to realize: _He_ was a prince, too, wasn’t he? Sure, there wasn’t really a kingdom anymore, not with the Empire keeping a tight grip on Tenebrae’s military and governing bodies, but it was still true. Ravus should have been next in line, but he was playing a dangerous game as a lackey of the Empire. The worst part of _that,_ Prompto learned, was that Ravus had signed up under the military to _find_ him. Luna was the Oracle, but she was stuck in the confines of Tenebrae and Niflheim. And Prompto, well, he supposed that meant he was in exile.

An exiled prince. It sounded like something out of a romance novel.

All the same, Prompto started looking more into the politics of Tenebrae. He collected pictures he downloaded from library archives, all of their major cities and important buildings. He even found some passable photos of the palace, and one of a portrait of the royal family that made him crack up every time he looked at it: His mother, who he could barely remember. Ravus, sulky at their mother’s hip, Luna looking perfectly composed in the center, and Prompto—Solaris—drowning in what had to be three yards of fluffy lace. He asked Caius for permission and framed it over the mantelpiece.

When Prompto turned seventeen, he asked for Gladio’s help building windowboxes outside of the apartment, and planted sylleblossoms there. Caius took a picture of Prompto pointing at them excitedly from the window, and the next letter from Luna had a photo of the two of them as children, Prompto sitting on her lap, surrounded by a field of the blooms. He framed that one, too.

Which was why when Noct showed up outside of his apartment one afternoon, asking to come in from an unseasonable thunderstorm, Prompto panicked.

“You can’t… go home?” he squeaked, painfully aware of the flowers covered in protective netting directly to Noct’s left. Noct sneezed and shook his head.

“Ignis found mold,” he said. Prompto tried not to sigh—Noct’s cleaning habits were something to be feared. “Sorry to ask, but I really don’t want to have to go to the palace right now…”

Prompto smiled, but it came out as more of a pained wince. “Sure,” he said. “Let me just… clean up.” He shut the door in Noct’s baffled face. He turned. The photos, right. He ran to the mantle and flipped the photo of him and Luna around. The one of the royal family couldn’t be helped—he’d nailed it too securely to the wall. He rushed to his bedroom and started taking down all the photos of Luna and Ravus that Luna had sent him over the years, and shoved them with a hurried apology into the upper drawer of his desk. The wall of old buildings—and the recreation of the palace he was working on—would have to stay up. He could already hear knocking on the door again. Alright, this was fine. He was fine. This was manageable.

He wrenched open the front door, and Noct almost fell in. “Sorry!” Prompto said, in a high voice. “Come in!”

“Thanks. It’s okay if your house is a mess, Prom,” Noct said, kicking off his shoes in the front entrance. “You’ve seen mine, right?”

“Yeah, but this is, I mean, it’s the first time you’ve been here, so—“

“Hey, are those sylleblossoms?” Noct stared at a vase of flowers on the kitchen counter.

“Um. Yes. Yes, they are. Dad likes them.” Prompto looked at Noct, who was slowly turning the foyer into a shallow pool of rainwater, and clung to something safe. “I need to get you a towel! And clothes!”

“Man, it’s fine—“ Noct started, but Prompto was already off.

When he came back, Noct had moved to the living room, and was staring at the picture of the royal family.

“I have this one,” he said, in a quiet voice. “Luna gave it to me. Why do you have it on _your_ wall?”

“My—my dad’s from Tenebrae,” Prompto said. He thrust a towel into Noct’s hands, and plopped some of his spare clothes on top. “So I mean, I guess I am, too. So we, you know. Have it up.”

“Makes sense,” Noct said. “But didn’t you say you were adopted?”

“Yeah.” Prompto scrunched up his face. “Not everyone’s adopted from Insomnia. Duh. Ok, go change, dude, you’re ruining the carpet.”

“Bossy, bossy.”

Too close. They were getting way too close. Prompto couldn’t let Noct know, not when everyone knew that Prompto—that Sol—had been taken by the Empire. It would make things complicated. The King would want to see him, or they’d make some sort of announcement, and the Empire might hurt Ravus or Luna in order to demand his return. They could even release proof of what they’d done to him, when he was little. How they’d changed him. Even now, Prompto could sometimes feel his stomach revolt from something in his very blood, taste metal in the back of his mouth. He couldn’t bear to think of Noct looking at him like he was a monster.

While Noct dried off and changed, Prompto busied himself with making two mugs of hot chocolate. Caius wouldn’t be back ‘til late, anyways, so maybe they could eat some popcorn and watch a movie.

“Hey.”

Prompto turned. Noct was wearing Prompto’s baggy kakhis and a soft plaid shirt, and something about seeing him in his clothes made Prompto’s stomach twist in knots. He pushed the feeling out of his mind and handed Noct a mug. “Careful,” he said. “It’s h—“

Noct smiled, and his hands crackled briefly with what looked like a sheen of frost. Then it was gone, and he sipped the chocolate. “Nice, thanks.”

“Noct!” Prompto set down his own drink. “You can do it. Holy shit, dude.”

“Thought you’d be impressed.” He looked at Prompto strangely, with his lids half lowered. “Want to try the…”

“Right! Sure.” Prompto took Noct’s mug from his hands, and assumed that the electric current that ran through him at his touch was more to do with leftover magic than anything else. They sat on the carpet, and Prompto blinked as Noct eased a little closer than usual, gripping his hands tight. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

There. Warmth, just at Noct’s fingertips, but not hot enough to burn. Prompto grinned, but Noct’s eyes were still closed.

“Noct,” he said, trying to settle into the voice he used at these times. “Try to build a wall. Think of it like planes of glass, with little cracks in them to let magic and air through, but nothing else. Build it in your mind first, and—“ He gasped. A clear wall of magic arced over them like a crystal dome, shimmering with the reflected light of the kitchen and living room lamps. He stared at it, open-mouthed, and looked down to see Noct smiling at him.

“I’ve been practicing,” he said, and leaned in to kiss Prompto softly on the lips.

Prompto’s mind went blank.

“Oh,” he said, when Noct pulled away.

“Is that a good oh, or a bad oh?” asked Noct. He looked so nervous, so uncertain, and yet the barrier around them held. Prompto felt his heartbeat thudding somewhere near his throat, and knew that he should probably stop this now, because Noct couldn’t be distracted…

“I don’t know,” he said, breathlessly. “Kiss me again and I’ll tell you.”

This, he thought, as Noct hurried to comply, was one thing that he _wasn't_ going to tell Luna about. At least, not yet.


	4. Chapter 4

It took a few months, but Prompto finally broke down and told Luna about the—thing—that was happening between him and Noct.

He still wasn’t sure what it was. They touched more, and Noct sat closer to him than usual when they rode the bus or sat in the back of the car. Their outings started to feel more intimate, and the meditative practices Luna had been so meticulous in explaining to Prompto turned into magically-charged makeout sessions. Which… wasn’t bad, right? It just showed how much control Noct had.

It was strange, and new, and altogether confusing. Prompto had been so focused on making sure that he could help Noct fulfill his duty as the chosen king, that the idea of Noct liking him wasn’t really an option. Besides, he couldn’t help but feel a lingering sense of unease regarding his time in enemy hands. Caius insisted that he was perfectly human, but Prompto had nightmares of waking up with red eyes and synthetic skin and a tattoo where his soul should be.

Luna’s reaction should have been unsurprising. There were three pages of painfully awkward sexual education information and warnings to _be careful, brother,_ followed by cautious delight and her seal of approval. She even added, scrunched down at the bottom of the letter, a hurried addition:

_Ravus says of course this would happen, and not to ask him for a dowry. This is his way of saying he approves._

Prompto laughed at that, and tucked the letter away for safekeeping.

Telling Caius had led to their first all-out screaming argument, with Caius insisting that Prompto was putting himself _right_ into the public eye and Prompto assuring him that no one could even _recognize_ him anymore. He was consequentially grounded for two weeks, and the two of them danced around each other like twin stormclouds until Caius begrudgingly allowed Prompto to bring Noct home for dinner.

Prompto thought that had to be the most awkward thing he’d ever done, but it was nothing to match his visits to the palace.

Ignis and Gladio revealed that they’d been running a betting pool on how long it would take Prompto to notice Noct’s increasingly desperate attempts to get his attention.

“I had my bets set on the solstice,” Gladio said. “Now I have to polish Iggy’s shoes for the next three months.”

“Never bet against a Scientia,” Ignis said, baring his teeth in a smile. Prompto wasn’t sure whether to be outraged or impressed, but Noct decided for him by shoving the two into each other and using a colorful vocabulary that had Gladio doubling over with breathless laughter.

Prompto’s first meeting with the King was little better.

Prompto definitely didn’t tell Caius about _that._ He snuck out with Noct one afternoon and tried not to look like he was sinking into an abyss of abject terror with every step they made along the carpeted floors of the Citadel.

“What’s wrong, Prom?” Noct asked, slipping an arm around Prompto’s waist. “You’re usually so composed.”

“Oh, you know,” Prompto said, gesturing at the empty air before them. “Meeting royalty does that to people.”

“ _I’m_ royal.”

“You don’t count.” Prompto leaned over to kiss Noct on the cheek, and was rewarded with a peck on the nose. That turned into a soft brushing of his lips against Noct’s, which then became a hot press of tongues and breath and Prompto’s arms bracing them against the stone wall of the hallway as Noct’s hands traveled down his waist to his hips—

“My,” said a dry, highly amused voice from down the hall. “This certainly is an interesting first impression.”

They flew apart. Prompto stumbled, and Noct swung an arm around him to keep him steady, and the two looked up with flushed cheeks and slack jaws to see the King of Lucis leaning on his cane some ten yards away.

“You must be Prompto,” he said, with a gentle smile.

“I’m going to be killed,” Prompto whispered. Noct elbowed him, and he said, “Y-yes, Your Majesty. I—I’m sorry about the—“

“A little discretion may be called for, but there’s no harm done.” The King inclined his head. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Prompto wasn’t entirely certain how he managed to survive the next two hours.

Oh, the King was nice. He was soft-spoken and conscientious, even if he did bother Noct to eat his vegetables, and didn’t mention the fact that Prompto had just been caught debauching the prince in the hallway at all. He was, however, very interested in the details of Prompto’s life.

“Do you like it here?” he asked, after a while. “Noctis says you are from Tenebrae. The adjustment to our way of life must have been a trial.”

“Um,” Prompto said, eloquently. Why did Noct have to tell his father _everything?_ “No, Your Majesty. I mean yes, I like it here. I was too young to remember much.”

“I was a good friend to the late Queen. Just as Noctis,” the King said, nodding to his son, “is good friends with her children.”

“Just Luna, Dad,” said Noct.

“Of course,” said the King. The vague, distant look he gave Prompto sent chills over his skin. “So. You’re graduating soon. Any plans for the future?”

The conversation turned to less dangerous lines of thought after that, but Prompto couldn’t bring himself down from the cold hand of fear that gripped his chest.

Noct rubbed his back in sympathy as they left the Citadel. “Man, I am so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know my dad was going to turn that into an interrogation.”

“Well, I am dating the prince,” Prompto said. He stopped when he felt Noct’s hand drop away, and turned to face him. Noct looked at him with a funny, quivery sort of smile.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess you _are._ ” Prompto sighed and walked up to him, carding his fingers through Noct’s fine, dark hair.

“Let’s go back to my place,” Noct said, in little more than a whisper.

“Sure,” said Prompto. He kissed Noct slowly, deep and soft and full of promise. “It’s a date.”

\---

“I can’t believe this.”

Prompto sat on the couch of his and Caius’ small apartment, looking like he’d spent the last twenty-four hours being stamped on by a behemoth. His eyeliner was smudged damply along his temples, his eyes were red-rimmed and baggy with lack of sleep, and he trembled like he’d just run a marathon without a stop for water. Caius sat next to him and pulled him into a one-armed hug.

“It’s part of the peace accord, Prompto,” he said, in his low, even tone. “There was no way any of you could have known.”

Prompto scrubbed his fingers over his eyes. “Caius,” he said, in a wretched voice. “My _sister_ is marrying my _boyfriend._ ”

Caius sighed deeply and rubbed Prompto’s back. “I… I honestly don’t know what to say to that.”

Prompto wailed into his hands.

“They’re doing this on purpose,” he said, after a while, hiccuping for breath. “They want her stuck in Insomnia, so she can’t help Noct form the covenants.”

“Prompto, most of Niflheim thinks the covenants and the Astrals are exaggerated fairytales. They can’t possibly—“

“That has to be part of it, though.” Prompto struggled to pull himself together. “I’ll have to… have to help them. No one knows who I am yet. Even if I don’t have her magic, I know the language the Astrals use. I know everything about them. I’m from the Oracle’s line.”

“I don’t think I like where this is going, Prompto.”

Prompto was quiet for a minute, breathing deeply through his hands. He straightened at last, and gave Caius a quivering smile.

“Don’t worry, Caius,” he said. “I’m not going to do anything dangerous.”

It was a terrible lie, but it had to be said.

Noct was about as devastated by the news as Prompto. He was in a black mood for weeks, even through the celebration for his twentieth birthday, and told Prompto more times than he could count that he was not going to let the Empire make him and Luna enter a loveless marriage “just for kicks!” Prompto, for once, didn’t have any advice to give. The last letter Luna sent him was full of reassurances and cryptic hints to “pay attention to the treaty, Sol,” and he couldn’t get the idea that Niflheim was trying to restrict Luna’s movements out of his mind.

One day, after he and Noct had locked themselves in an unused guest room in the Citadel before yet another nerve-wracking dinner with King Regis, Prompto felt the anxious restlessness he’d been holding back creep up on him at last. He disentangled himself from Noct’s bony limbs and took a moment to look down on him. Noct had his hands curled up near his face, and his hair, unmade by Prompto’s fingers, hung loose over his eyes and cheeks. Prompto dragged the discarded blankets over him, and Noct rolled closer, grasping for Prompto’s bare thigh.

“Don’t go,” the prince mumbled.

“I’ll be back,” said Prompto. He kissed Noct on the forehead and dropped to his feet on the rug, ignoring Noct’s dejected whimper. He shivered as he threw on his clothes, and stepped out into the cool hallways of the Citadel.

He wasn’t sure where he was going. Maybe to the training yards, to see Gladio, or to seek out Ignis for one of his leftover pastries. Whatever the case, he let his feet lead him down the endless, curving halls.

_Turn left,_ he thought. He turned down a corridor that led to a series of winding stairs. Why had he done this? It made no sense—he didn’t recognize this part of the Citadel at all. He almost turned right around when he felt a tug in his mind and unthinkingly obeyed, darting down a narrow stairwell that was less decorated and grand than the hall from which it branched.

He felt like he was walking through a dream. Every time he considered stopping, or turning back, or going down another hall, he would feel that nagging thought in his mind and dutifully follow it. He should have been afraid, but all he could feel was a strange, bubbling anticipation.

At last, he stood before two doors, which were locked by a DNA recognition control pad. He frowned. End of the line, then.

_Touch it,_ said the voice in his mind. He pressed his thumb to the pad before he could stop himself. The pad glowed a faint gold, and the doors eased open.

Before him, casting spots of light over the walls like the pattern of waves on the ocean floor, floated the crystal.

“Oh, hells,” he whispered. He walked forward, and felt like he was stepping through a wall of water. He broke through the other side only a few feet from the crystal, and raised trembling fingers to its surface.

_Greetings, child of the Oracle._

Prompto jumped. The voice that rang out in his mind was deep, and clear as a low bell. It took Prompto a moment to realize that it had spoken in the language of the Astrals, and that he had been able to understand without difficulty.

He felt a glimmer of pride at that. Not bad, for a self-taught man.

“Greetings,” he said, fumbling over the words. It was hard to speak in the Astral’s language—it was simple, but deceptively so, and it had not been made for human tongues. “May I ask… who…?”

_I am Bahamut, the keeper of the crystal. You do not know this?_

“No, I, I do. I apologize, sir.” Prompto cursed himself inwardly, and put it down to nerves.

_You bear a question, child. Ask it of me._

_I do?_ Prompto thought. He took a moment to consider this. After a long pause, he nodded and stepped a little closer.

“I am a companion to the King of Light,” he said. “The Oracle, my…” he struggled to find the word. “Blood? My blood kin? She has the knowledge of what the King must do to destroy the Scourge. I know some, but not all. If I wish to help him… I need to know. What will happen after he forms the covenant and takes on the power of the crystal?”

There was a very long silence.

_There is a price,_ Bahamut said, and showed him.

The vision swirled through Prompto’s mind like a maelstrom, terrible in its intensity, and he found himself slowly collapsing onto the floor before the crystal. He had none of his sister’s power or Noct’s magic, and even with the breathing and mental exercises, the sheer strength of the crystal’s focus was nearly too much. At last it left him, and he looked down at his hands braced on the floor, and the drops of sweat dotting the stone. No, it wasn’t sweat. He licked dry lips and tasted the warm salt of tears. He kept his head bowed when he spoke again.

“This can’t be the price,” he said. His voice was cracking, and he knew what Bahamut was going to say.

_To slay the Accursed, the King of Light must follow him into the plane beyond. It is inevitable, child._

“There isn’t another way? Can… can _I_ pay the price? Can I go, and the King—“

_You asked for the truth, child. I do not taunt mortals with deception._

“I… I understand.” Prompto swallowed around his dry throat, and sat up on his knees. “Thank you, sir. But if it’s possible, my offer stands.”

The sound that echoed in Prompto’s mind could almost be called a laugh.

_Go in peace, child._

The presence in Prompto’s mind faded, but he waited a while before daring to stand. He rose shakily, and braced himself on his knees for a full minute to catch his breath.

“It takes much out of you, does it not?” Prompto turned too quickly, and swayed as a wave of dizziness washed over him. The King stood in the doorway, one hand on his cane, the other held against the stone of the door. Prompto immediately dropped to his knees again, and the King made a disapproving sound.

“I'm sorry, Your Majesty,” Prompto said. “I shouldn’t be here. Please, I—“ The King raised a hand, and he fell silent, heart in his throat.

“You have every right to be here, your highness,” King Regis said.

Prompto felt as though he were drowning in the open air.

“Come here, son. Princes don’t kneel.”

Prompto rose like a marionette, and lurched into the doorway at King Regis’ side.

“How…?” he gasped.

“Give me credit.” The King’s smile was not unkind. “I knew the moment I saw you. You are the spitting image of your mother at your age. The rest was a matter of asking the right questions.”

Prompto tried to keep control over his breathing, but it was still uneven and shaky. “I’m sorry I lied to you. And to Noct. But Luna, and Ravus, they—“

“I know the risks, Solaris.” Prompto realized with a start that this was the first time anyone had said that name aloud in nearly fifteen years. Despite his attempts to hold it in, he felt the prickle of tears in his eyes. “I will not betray your location to the Empire.”

The King placed a hand on the side of Prompto’s face, brushing back his tear-damp hair with a thumb. “It is my greatest regret that I could not protect your family from the Empire.” The King’s eyes were shadowed and dark. “I can only hope now that I can ensure your safety, and happiness, in the times to come.”

“I _am_ happy,” Prompto said, tears streaming down his cheeks. The King chuckled. It was strange, because in a way, Prompto wasn’t lying. He was terrified of the future, worried about Noctis, aching with the knowledge of what Bahamut had revealed to him. But right now, with the sound of his old name on the King’s lips, and the promise of safety in a time when war closed in on every angle, he was gripped at last by an overpowering joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story can hop forward in time a bit, because it's... going to encompass most of the game...  
> (don't worry, I'm gonna give this a happy ending, gosh darn it! Eventually!)


	5. Chapter 5

Caius stood awkwardly in the kitchen, toying with the buttons of his vest while Prompto stared at the brand new camera on the countertop. He had the same nervous tic as Prompto, a sideways tilt of the head and a thinning of the lips, and his gaze focused on everything _but_ the young man gingerly picking up the camera with a steady hand.

“I know it’s not much,” he said. “I didn’t bring you here with the intention of being your father. What we were doing to you was, was wrong, and I couldn’t leave you alone in a strange city, and…” He let out a long, gusty breath. “I’m—“

“Sorry, I know.” Prompto looked up at him with a grin. “Don’t worry about it, Caius. Thank you.” He pulled the man into a bone-crushing bear hug, which made Caius overbalance and stumble on the tile floor. “You did alright, for a not-dad. When I come back, I’ll introduce you to Luna.”

“That… will be terrifying,” Caius admitted, when Prompto finally let him go. “But I’ll try to look forward to it.”

Prompto raised the camera and took a shot of Caius’ pale, slightly panicked face, and gave him a thumbs up. It was a perfect portrait.

“Alright,” he said. “Time to meet my sister, I guess.” He heaved his duffle bag over his shoulder and left Caius standing at the kitchen counter, staring after him like he was a welcome apparition that had finally decided to move on. Maybe he’d find some sort of peace after this, maybe he wouldn’t. Being with Noct had taught Prompto that there wasn’t much use in trying to push someone. They had to come by it naturally.

Which made him laugh, because ten years ago, he’d been a scared, worrisome kid so starved for affection that a few days with an injured dog had changed his life. What was he going to be after this?

Ignis met him at the Citadel, and helped shove his bag into the back of the Regalia. Prompto had decided the risk was worth it, and had slipped Luna’s latest letter in a side pocket, along with his favorite photo of the three Nox Fleuret siblings: Ravus and Luna fussing over a three year old Sol, whose face was red with screaming sobs at the indignity of being forced into a white formal suit. The letter was a little troubling, but only at the last, when Luna had decided that she was going to take Prompto’s marriage concerns in hand personally.

_Sol,_ she wrote. _Don’t worry about the wedding. I have a plan, and it’s time to tell Noctis who you are in any case. You don’t want him to find out at Altissia. Better to hear it from you. Be brave! You are a charming, clever, sunny young man, and if Prince Noctis doesn’t still love you after this, he and I will have words._

_Your loving sister,_

_(tell him!)_

_Luna_

Right. Everything seemed easy when it was written down in Luna’s elegant script. In the real world, it was a little more complicated than that.

King Regis saw Prompto, Ignis, Gladio, and Noct off to the car after all the formal goodbyes were over, and watched the Regalia veer into the streets of Insomnia, towards the main exit to Leide. They had about a week to reach Altissia in time for the ceremony, and the peace treaty between Insomnia and Niflheim was supposed to take place around the same time. Noct was, as expected, still furious, but perhaps Luna had said something to him as well, because he seemed more convinced than ever that the marriage simply wasn’t going to happen.

Then the car broke down, and they met Cindy, the most glorious woman to have blessed the earth upon which she walked. It took about an hour of teasing mooning on Prompto’s part for Noct, glowering darkly, to pull him into the caravan across the way and demand answers. Prompto had apologized through helpless laughter, and it took nearly two hours of fervent, and probably entirely inappropriate, affection to get him laughing, too. Ignis and Gladio bore it all with resignation, but it definitely lightened the mood of the trip. Ignis even turned on the radio for a bit as they drove for the Quay, zeroing in on a program about the upcoming wedding between the Oracle Lunafreya and Prince Noctis of Insomnia.

“Get this,” one of the announcers said, after a minute of canned reporting. “The treaty doesn’t actually call the Oracle by name. It just says that Prince Noctis is to marry ‘the youngest surviving member of the royal line.’ The Oracle herself asked for that stipulation. So that means…”

The second announcer laughed. “You’re saying if the Oracle kicks it, he’ll have to marry General Ravus?”

“It’s legal in Tenebrae,” said the first. “Get with the times, my man.”

“Well, let’s hope the Oracle gets to Altissia safe, because otherwise, the crown prince is gonna be—“

“Turn that shit off,” Noct said. Ignis switched to a different station, and glanced over at Prompto.

“Prompto? Are you well?”

Prompto turned to him slowly, trying to keep the shock out of his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, in a weak voice. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Luna’s not gonna let it happen, Prom,” said Noct, in a voice low enough to be a growl.

Prompto nodded automatically. Luna’s insistence that he tell the truth to Noct before they reached Altissia suddenly made too much sense. “Oh my gods,” he moaned, and covered his face in his hands. Ignis reached over to rub his shoulders soothingly, but there was no comfort to be found. Luna had devised a way to get around the wedding, after all, _and_ to ensure that the treaty went forward as planned. She probably thought she was doing Prompto a favor.

The only problem was, Prompto wasn’t sure he _could_ tell the truth. If Noct knew that he’d been lying all this time, why would he ever agree to this? He was doomed to a loveless marriage either way. At least with Luna, there wouldn’t have been a betrayal.

_I’ll tell him tomorrow,_ Prompto thought, as they pulled into the parking lot of Galdin Quay. _When we’re on the boat to Altissia, I’ll tell him._

 

\---

 

There would be no boats departing for Altissia for some time.

Prompto lined an MT trooper in his sights and tried to remind himself that the taste of metal on his tongue was only adrenaline. The trooper fell in a spasming heap of electricity and black ichor, and Prompto trained his gun on another MT advancing on Noctis’ right. Noct fought like a wild creature, all rage and grief and an encroaching wave of bitter, crushing hopelessness that he could only try to contain. Gladio was more methodical, and Ignis’ blades really did seem to be an extension of his arm. And Prompto—Every time Prompto killed another trooper, he thought of the table in the lab, the tattoo on his wrist, the doctors who worked with impassive expressions and cool precision.

He couldn’t let Noctis know. The chance to tell him anything had died days ago, with the King. With Insomnia. There was only so much he could handle at once, and it would be selfish to add more to his mind. He would have to wait until a better time. Lestallum, maybe. Where the meteor was, and the Archaeon.

The Archaeon. Prompto sent a shot out into the crowd of MTs that twisted them into a coil of electrical energy. Luna wasn’t dead—The papers had only said she was _presumed_ dead, and they’d said the same for Noctis. He couldn’t think of her as gone, not when he’d been so close to seeing her again. He had to have faith. But if she was lost, or unable to begin the pact of the covenants… Prompto would have to try. And that meant telling Noct who he was... Eventually.

The last trooper fell. Noct stood over them, face shadowed in the harsh glow of the sunset, and looked to Prompto. Prompto forced a smile.

“Hey,” he said, sauntering up. “You sure _Noct_ that one out.”

“You’re awful,” Noctis said. His fingers dug under the fabric of Prompto’s vest, and Prompto let himself be pulled flush to his side. Noct was always seeking out contact these days—A hand in Prompto’s hair, a touch at his hip, the silent, warm comfort of sleeping front to back in the crowded tent. Prompto worried sometimes that Noct cared too much for his friends. For the sake of his own safety, he would have to be willing to leave them behind to stay alive.

Prompto looked into his eyes, and wondered how much sacrifice Noctis was willing to bear.

“You’re making that face again,” Noct said, and ran a finger past the lines of Prompto’s brow, down the ridge of his nose.

“Alright, lovebirds, break it up,” Gladio said, and Prompto jumped. “If you get any worse, I’m gonna have to kick you out of the tent for my own peace of mind.”

“Worse?” Prompto asked. He looked at Noct with mock surprise. “What could possibly be worse, pookums?”

“Golly,” said Noct, deadpan. “I don’t know, sugarpea.”

Gladio leveled a death glare on the both of them, and Prompto winked.

It took a while to get to Lestallum. Prompto hadn’t been thinking straight—the moment he saw the sign for the Wiz Chocobo Post, it was like he reverted to the hyperactive nine-year-old he hadn’t found the chance to be, and none of the others could deny him. He spent so long taking pictures that they had to camp in a caravan for the night, and Ignis dutifully tried to recreate the towering mass of sandwich bread, tomato, and meat that they’d seen on the menu at the diner.

“Pretty sure this is stealing,” Prompto said, through a mouthful of bread.

“Not at all,” Ignis said, sitting up like a disgruntled bird. “I changed the spice on the ham, so it's original.”

Noct rolled his eyes, and Ignis declared them all—save Gladio—offensively ungrateful, and gave the remaining plate of desserts to Noct’s Shield. Gladio made sure to eat with slow, careful bites, making a show of it, and Noct ended up shoving leftover bread in his face as revenge.

So it wasn’t all bad, really.

 

\---

 

They met Gladio’s little sister, Iris, at the inn of Lestallum. She and the family of the Amicitia butler had escaped the worst of the attack on Insomnia at the start, and she had the same dark, haunted expression as Noct, hidden under a mask of welcome.

“Oh,” she said, as they sat in a loose circle in one of the inn’s upper rooms. “I almost forgot. There’s news about the Oracle.”

Prompto struggled not to change his expression.

“They say she was in the city. She left right before you got here.”

Prompto looked at Noct. The prince was staring down at his clenched fists, his teeth ground together, clearly undergoing the same force of will as Prompto. He attempted a smile. “Thanks, Iris. That means a lot.”

“She’s probably gone to the Archaeon,” Prompto said. It was the wrong thing to say. They couldn’t rush straight to business, not when Noct was still coming to terms with the ruins of his old life, and the confirmation that his old friend had just passed them by. The others stared at Prompto, and he felt his cheeks go hot. “I mean, that’s her job. As Oracle.”

“You’re right, Prompto,” said Noct. He looked at the others. “Prom’s a bit of an Oracle nut. Don’t ask him about the Astrals unless you want to be stuck in a history lesson all day.”

“That’s true enough,” said Gladio. Prompto glared.

“Well, I think it’s nice,” Ignis said. “Let’s rest up for the day, shall we? We can discuss the Oracle’s plans tomorrow, surely.”

“Right,” Prompto said. “I call dibs on the bathroom.” He tried not to walk too quickly, and only barely registered Gladio’s request that he not use up all the hot water this time. When he closed the door behind him, he silently clicked the lock, leaned onto the counter, and bit the knuckles of his left hand to keep from laughing.

Luna was _alive._ And if they made it to the Archaeon in time, they might actually see her. _She_ could help explain things to Noct in a way that Prompto never could. Luna had escaped Insomnia, outwitted Niflheim, and was at this moment obtaining the blessings of the gods. If anyone could fix things, it was her.


	6. Chapter 6

There was something strange about Ardyn.

Prompto couldn’t put his finger on it. Sure, the guy had about as much sleaze as all of Lestallum’s red-light district clientele put together, and his smile was like a crocodile’s—all teeth and predatory intent. But he _acted_ like he wanted to help them get to the Disc of Cauthess. Still, every time he so much as breathed in his direction, Prompto felt his muscles lock up and his breath go short.

“You’ve been pretty quiet,” Gladio told him, when they settled down at a caravan for the night. Prompto was out by the plastic dining tables, watching Ardyn warily as he paced and spoke to Noct.

Prompto tried to shrug, but it came out as more of a jerk. Gladio raised a hand over Prompto’s shoulder and gently lowered it, giving him time to react to the touch.

“Take it easy, okay?”

“Thanks, Gladio,” Prompto said. Gladio kept his hand on Prompto for another moment before drawing back, and positioned himself so that he was in Prompto’s view at all times. It was comforting to know that the no-nonsense Amicitia had his back, and Prompto let out a deep sigh, imagining his fear pouring off him like Noct’s magic in one of their meditation practices.

“Now,” Ardyn said, breaking Prompto out of his thoughts. “ _That_ is an accent I wasn’t expecting.”

Prompto glanced over at the older man and felt his heartbeat quicken. “Whatever, man.”

“It’s just,” the man said, leaning towards him, “You look so _dreadfully_ familiar—“ He reached out to grasp Prompto’s chin, and Prompto leaned back, nearly falling over in his seat. Noct stood from his chair. Gladio held onto Prompto’s shoulders, righting him. Ignis stepped forward with a cry of, “Now that is hardly appropriate,” and Ardyn laughed.

“So protective,” he said, smiling benevolently. “Who’s the prince, here?”

“I’m going to bed,” Prompto said. He rose to his feet and disappeared into the welcome warmth of the caravan. Noct followed him shortly after, and insisted that Prompto sleep against the wall while he braced him on the other side. Prompto knew that he was trying to block him from Ardyn, knew that by all accounts _he_ should be protecting _Noct,_ but the taste of fear was so thick in his mouth that he didn’t argue.

When he finally slept, he dreamt of needles, and pain, and blood spotted with midnight black.

 

\---

 

If the voice of Bahamut was like a clear bell, the voice of the Archaeon was a bell lined with gravel, kicked along an uneven path for good measure. Prompto winced every time they spoke, and could barely make out the words over the crash of stone and the shaking of the earth. He and Ignis made it to Gladio and Noct just as the second wave of MT soldiers touched down, and the word the Titan roared in their direction was one Prompto hadn’t picked up in any of his books or Luna’s letters.

“Call it a hunch, but I think they’re mad,” he shouted to Noct, slapping him on the back as he ran to fire a shot over a squadron of MTs. Noct didn’t bother to reply—he was already building a wall between himself and the Titan, filtering the strength of the Archaeon’s voice even as he parried their blows. Prompto couldn’t help but feel a little personal pride at that.

Noct was glorious to watch. Whatever had happened between his fall down the slope and his arrival at the Titan’s feet, the prince’s focus had slipped from a wavering, uncertain thing to a straightforward determination that gave him the courage to warp directly onto the Titan’s oncoming fist. Prompto couldn’t help but stop and stare for a moment as the small, black form warped and tumbled in the air, summoning his armiger in a flash of blue light.

Here was a king, drifting into the open from behind Noct’s carefully crafted veneer of disinterest. Here was a glimmer of the man he had to become, the man who would need to lose everything to defeat the Scourge. Prompto ached at the sight of him, and once more sent a silent plea to Bahamut that this one time, just this once, his light didn’t have to be extinguished.

“Prompto, eyes front!” Prompto fell back under Ignis’ firm hand, and followed Noct’s advisor into the fray.

When the Archaeon crouched before them, dissolving into a mass of glowing lights, Prompto held Noct’s hands as the future king built a crystal dome around them, filtering the power of the Titan as the covenant was forged. When it was done, the mark of the Archaeon flickered over Noct’s eyes for a moment, and then faded, leaving the old, deliberately vague Noctis smirking at Prompto’s starry-eyed gaze.

“Careful,” he said. “You might be coming down with a case of hero worship.”

“As if,” Prompto said. He kissed him, then, and tasted dirt and sweat on his lips as the roar of MT carrier ships broke through the crash of crumbling stone.

A smug, oily voice called out over a carrier loudspeaker.

“Thought you boys might need a lift!”

Noct pulled away from Prompto with a scowl, and they all looked up at Ardyn, leaning against the wall of a carrier’s bay doors. But not just Ardyn. _Ardyn Izunia,_ as he so graciously informed them. Chancellor of Niflheim.


	7. Chapter 7

Prompto didn’t have time to think about Ardyn Izunia. He barely had time to sleep. They’d been on the ground for little more than a day before one of Luna’s messengers, Gentiana, had appeared with a summons for Noctis. Then there was the frantic race across the Alstor Slough and back, fighting their way through Imperial troops, slipping over rain-slick mud and stone on their way to the points of Ramuh’s power.

Then there was the snake woman. Prompto decided he would _never_ think about the snake woman again.

He didn’t hold onto Noct, this time, when the prince (the King? Prompto wasn’t sure, anymore) forged the covenant with Ramuh, the wielder of the storm. Prompto couldn’t help but take a photo of him as Noct was enveloped by Ramuh’s power, his face framed by bright lines of violet magic. Noct caught Prompto staring at it, after, and gently set the camera aside and kissed the awe out of him, reminding him that Noct was human, and present, and _his._ The thought was terrifying.

“When we get to Caem,” Prompto said, as they lay back in a tangle of sleeping bags and thin travel blankets, “We’ll need to talk about the Leviathan. She’s kind of, well. I don’t want to use the word, but—“

“I think I get the idea,” said Noct. “Luna warned me, too.” He sighed. “You two would get along, you know. Sometimes, you get kind of like her.” Prompto stared at him, and he grinned. “Like that. Quiet. Thoughtful. Like you’re trying to be older than you are.” He pressed on the furrows of Prompto’s brow and kissed him there, lightly.

“Noct,” Prompto said. “About that.”

He opened his mouth to say it, to truly say it, when Ignis and Gladio appeared at the mouth of the tent.

“We have word from Cindy,” Ignis said, after checking to make sure they were decent. “She says she found the Regalia.”

“The Empire has it,” said Gladio. “Better suit up, boys.”

Noct scrambled to his feet, and Prompto bit back the sigh that welled up from the base of his chest. Perhaps it would never be the right time.

 

\---

 

The recovery of the Regalia went surprisingly well. Prompto whistled from dark corners to draw MT troopers’ attention, then would take out the snipers directly above him while Noct killed the ones below. They went like this all the way to the car, before it became clear that they’d have to take out the fortress generator just to escape. Noct took one look at the generator, another back at the oncoming MTs, and smiled at his friends. Violet light flashed in his eyes.

“Want to see something cool?” he asked.

Prompto fell back against Gladio as the spectral form of Ramuh appeared, reaching down to grip Noct in one hand as the other summoned a white hot bolt of power. Gladio had to drag the gunner into the safety of a work-shed to prevent him from getting caught in the blast.

“Okay,” he shouted, over the crackle of lightning. “I get it!”

Prompto shook his head. “Get what?” Thunder boomed, and the walls of the shed shuddered.

“You love him!” Gladio shouted, in the dead silence that followed. “Great! Now don’t get _killed_ makin’ puppy eyes!”

Prompto and Gladio stared at each other for a long moment.

“I should probably… make sure he’s alright,” Gladio said.

“Yeah,” said Prompto, in a wavering voice.

They staggered out into the smoking wreckage, where Noct was standing with his hands clapped on Ignis’ shoulders. Ignis’ face was streaked with soot, and Noct was making soothing, vaguely apologetic noises.

“Sorry, Iggy,” Gladio said, as they approached. “Had to keep loverboy from getting fried.”

“I’m touched by your concern,” Ignis said. They walked (and limped, in Ignis’ case) to the Regalia in silence, undisturbed by the decommissioned MT units crumpled on the asphalt around them. Ignis was just reaching for the door when a low, accented voice called out from behind them.

“Behold, the chosen king.”

Prompto turned, and his breath caught in his throat.

The man who approached them now had nearly half a drawer full of photos, newspaper articles, and scanned history book pages dedicated to him in Prompto’s bedroom in Insomnia. Prompto noticed now how sharp his jaw was, how he shared Luna’s slightly squared chin, and how much lighter his hair was than either of theirs combined. He held himself so straight, so proud, and before Prompto could stop himself, he was pushing out of the safety of Gladio and Ignis’ protection.

Ravus Nox Fleuret. Like Prompto, he had more than one name. Prince. General. Traitor. Brother. None of them quite fitting, all of them true.

Prompto stepped in front of Noct and strode towards Ravus. His hands were empty—he hadn’t thought to summon his weapon. Gladio was shouting something behind him, and he could feel the buzz of Noct’s magic at his back. He came within two feet of Ravus and opened his mouth to speak.

Ravus placed a hand on his vest and gently pushed him aside. He kept his eyes on Noct, but Prompto felt his hand linger a moment on his collar before trailing across his shoulder and away. Ignis yanked Prompto back, and Prompto missed whatever Ravus had said to Noct before there was a clash of metal, and his brother’s sword was bearing down on Gladio’s.

“Ravus!” Prompto cried out, unthinking. Ravus’ gaze flicked to the side to meet his, and Prompto saw that his eyes were glassy with fear. Gladio took advantage of the opening to parry the blow, sending Ravus reeling back a step. Prompto lurched forward, but Ignis’ grip on his shoulders was hard enough to bite.

“That’s quite enough.” Prompto froze at the sound of Ardyn’s voice, and instinctively drew back behind Ignis and Gladio as the chancellor walked towards them with slow, lazy steps. Ravus turned his back to Prompto altogether, standing at an angle so that he could keep an eye on Noct at the same time. Prompto understood, now, why he’d been so afraid. If Ardyn knew—which Prompto suspected could be true, if that night at the caravan was anything to go by—what could stop him from taking advantage of that knowledge? What could he do to Prompto, or Ravus, just to keep one or the other in line? Prompto wondered if this was what his brother had been living with all this time, and hated himself for staying out of view. He should be strong enough to do something. Anything.

“As much as I’d like to give you all time to, ah, catch up,” Ardyn said, glancing at Prompto for a split second, “I’m afraid you and I have places to be, General.” He beamed at the group and bowed deeply. “Next we meet, it will be across the sea. You must be dying to see your fair bride-to-be, eh, _Noct?_ ” He didn’t wait for Noctis to respond, and gestured for Ravus to follow him out. For a moment, Ravus paused, and then his shoulders straightened, and he walked away without a backwards glance.

“How did you know his name?” Ignis asked, after the silence stretched on far too long.

“He’s the prince of Tenebrae,” Prompto said, gripping his wrist. “Everyone knows it.” Which wasn’t an answer, not really, and Prompto felt himself choking on the lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you like to suffer for fun! Ha ha good times, good times


	8. Chapter 8

The Governor of Altissia was getting too old for this shit.

First came the new King of Lucis. Bless his heart, he did try to be diplomatic. He smirked half the time, and he was wearing an awful skull-patterned dress-shirt, but he was certainly considerate to the needs of the city. When he agreed to help evacuate before the forming of the covenant in the morning, the Governor resigned herself to having to lie her way around giving the Oracle’s location to the Empire. Good faith was a hell of a thing.

Then came the second headache.

When the impromptu summit was over and the King turned to go, the scruffy blonde at the back of the room stepped forward. He had the familiar slouch of the perpetually insecure, and his hand clenched over the atrocious leather bands at his right wrist. The others stared at him in confusion as he approached the desk.

“You guys go on,” he said. “I need to ask something. It’s okay, I’ll tell you about it later.”

For the first time that afternoon, the King’s face fell, revealing him to be nothing more than a bewildered young man. “Prom?” he asked, in a much lighter voice. His Shield placed a hand on his arm and murmured something in his ear, and Noctis narrowed his eyes slightly. At last, he nodded, and let his remaining companions guide him out of the room.

“I’m afraid I can’t simply listen to every appeal that comes my way, young man,” the Governor said, gazing sternly at the blonde in the center of the room.

“I apologize.” The young man straightened from his slouch, raised his head slightly, and bowed. The Governor sat up, unsettled by the sudden change, and examined him closely, searching for a hint as to his intentions.

“My name is Solaris Nox Fleuret,” the man said, as he rose from his bow. “I ask your leave to speak with my sister.”

 

\---

 

It took a while for the Governor to stop laughing, but when Prompto handed her Luna’s letter, her smile started to fade. When he gave her a short, succinct account of his time in Tenebrae and subsequent escape from Niflheim, she was starting to scowl. Her face had dropped into a full rictus of horror by the time Prompto finished, and she thrust the letter back at him like it was a missive of torture.

“I can’t allow this,” she said. “This will ruin us.”

“Will it?” Prompto asked. “I mean, think about it. You found the Oracle alive, and look at the response. Imagine if you told Niflheim—and your people—that you had found her lost brother…”

“You’re willing to give yourself up to them?” she asked, staring at him sharply. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Well,” Prompto said, carefully. “It wouldn’t be _your_ fault if Niflheim failed to find me after the covenant tomorrow. _You_ can’t be blamed for _their_ failure, right?”

It took a very long while for the Governor to consider this.

“Damn,” she said, at last. “This will come back to haunt me, your highness.”

“I know,” Prompto said. “I’m sorry.”

 

\---

 

A few minutes later, Prompto stood outside of the room in which the Oracle was being held. His hands shook when he reached for the handle, so he stopped and took a steady breath for the count of eight, hold, release. When he reached out again, his hands only trembled a little.

The door swung open.

The woman who sat in the chair by the window was tall for her age, with light blonde hair tied up with a thick braid, a faint dusting of freckles over her cheeks, and a stubborn tilt to her chin. Her fingers twisted in her lap, and she blinked rapidly and worried her lower lip with her teeth. When Prompto closed the door behind him, she turned so quickly that her chair groaned with the force of it.

“Hey, Luna,” Prompto said, in a quiet voice.

For a moment, Luna’s face was blank with shock. Then her brows furrowed, her lips parted, and she rose on swaying feet to face him.

“Sol?”

Prompto started towards her, and Luna closed the distance. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, so tight that the air nearly went out of him, and lowered his head to her shoulder. Her own shoulders were shaking, and Prompto carefully ran his hands over them, surprised by the fact that Luna, stubborn, level-headed Luna, was sobbing at his neck.

“I… I know I should’ve waited,” Prompto said. “But I had to—you were right here, I…”

“You are such a _fool,_ ” Luna cried. “The Empire will be here within hours, Sol. You can’t just—“

“I know that.” He brushed the tears from her eyes and gave her a shaky grin. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” She scruffed his hair and raised her eyebrows. “How much gel do you put in this?”

“You don’t want to know.” He released her, and Luna stumbled. “Luna, are you alright?”

“I will be,” she said. “Let’s sit down where—where…” She collapsed, and Prompto fell with her, catching her before her knees could hit the floor.

“That doesn’t look alright.”

“Oh, you’re just as bad as Ravus,” she said. She wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him close. “Come here, let me look at you.”

They sat there for a moment, holding each other, legs stretched out on the plush carpet.

“Luna,” Prompto said, after a while. “I wanted to ask you something. When I was in Insomnia, I spoke to Bahamut.”

Luna’s expression darkened.

“He told me what will happen to Noct, after this is over. Luna… did you know?”

Luna sighed, and Prompto already knew the answer. “Yes.”

“How can you stand it?” he asked. “I… every time I look at Noct, lately, I can’t stop thinking, _we have less than a year if we keep this up._ Maybe even less than that. There isn’t anything else? No other answer?”

“If there was, I’d tell you,” Luna said. “I am sorry, Solaris.” She rubbed his back. “I know it’s not much, but try to enjoy the time you have. Don’t hold back just because it hurts. You’ve told him, I assume?”

Prompto stiffened. Luna turned to him slowly, and pulled away. “Sol.”

“I tried to.” He cried out as Luna smacked the back of his head, and stared at her, mouth agape.

“I told you to tell him!” she said. “Astrals beyond! Solaris Nox Fleuret, I thought you were smarter than this!” She turned to him, gazing into his eyes. “Are you smarter than this?”

“Y-yes?”

“Then you’ll tell him,” she said, archly. “Tonight.”

“But tomorrow’s the covenant. He can’t be distracted.”

Luna’s glare cut him to the bone. “Do you trust him?” When he didn’t answer, she asked again. “Do you trust him to do his duty? To do it well?”

“Yes,” Prompto whispered.

“Then prove it. Tell him tonight.” She gripped his face in her hands and shook it a little. “I didn’t think I’d get the chance to play the big sister, you know. This is nice.”

“And terrifying.”

“Good,” she said. “Be afraid. Tomorrow, when it’s over, I’ll give you both my blessing.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, here's where I catapult into pure self-indulgence. Spoiler: I am gay. So very gay. Also, a fan of romance novels. Consider yourself duly warned.

When Prompto came back from the Governor’s house, looking dazed and a little tearful, Noct grabbed him immediately and towed him back out the door.

“What are we—“ Prompto said.

“Shh. How’d it go? What did you do in there?”

“Got permission to see the Oracle,” said Prompto. Noct stopped dragging him down the dock and stared. “Sorry.”

“How? She wouldn’t even let _me._ ”

“Said I was her brother,” Prompto said. Noct squinted at him, and shook his head in disbelief.

“How did you pull _that_ off?”

“It’s because I—“ Prompto stopped, and took a deep breath.

“What’d she say? No, no, tell me later.” Noct whipped Prompto around. “Tonight, I have plans for _you._ ”

“But it’s important,” Prompto protested.

“I know. But we have time. Right?” Prompto nodded slowly. “Alright. Come on. Let’s go.”

He took Prompto to see the outdoor chocobo pens first, where an entire flock paddled about in the water, squawking and cooing. Then he bought him greasy, disgusting fries at one of the stalls near the arcade, which still didn't have quite the same chemical horror of a plate of Kenny Crow brand potatoes. They took photos of each other on their way up to the main plaza, where Noct stopped Prompto and made him stand by the fountain.

It was strange. Prompto would usually be so excited to spend a few hours in a place like this, but he seemed more melancholy than anything. It must have been his meeting with Luna—which, admittedly, Noct was burning to know about. But that wasn’t the point of tonight. Tonight… Well. Tonight was about _Prompto._ Noct retrieved the items he’d bought from a merchant at the end of the plaza earlier that afternoon, flipped a coin to the entertainer playing guitar near the railing, and braced himself as he walked back to the fountain.

Prompto tried to hide it, but he was a romantic at heart. Noct had to do this _right._

“What’s going on?” Prompto asked, as Noct approached. “You didn’t have to buy us anyth—“ he stopped, staring at what Noct held in his hands.

“Oh, man, you know?” Noct asked, his pride deflating a little.

“Those…” Prompto looked up at Noct, suddenly fearful. “Those are…”

Two crowns of reeds and drooping white flowers dangled from Noct’s fingers.

“I heard there’s a ritual in Tenebrae,” Noct said, determined to see this through. “When men want to get married in a hurry.”

“Noct.”

“I know it’s not the right time,” Noct said. “I don’t think it’ll ever be the right time. So I thought… why not now?”

“You’re the King,” Prompto said. “You can’t just…” He trailed off, still staring at the flowers peeking out under Noct’s hands.

“That’s right,” Noct said. “I’m the King. So this is fine… if you want it.” He smiled at Prompto, and pressed a thumb to his jaw, closing his slightly opened mouth. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Prompto breathed. His cheeks reddened, and he swallowed hard. “I…” He fell silent.

“Good.” Noct lifted a crown over Prompto’s head, grinning as a flower tickled the base of his ear.

“Will you,” he said, “Prompto Argentum—“

“That isn’t my name.”

Noct paused, hands still lifted in the air. His smile wavered a little, and he said, “You mean your birth name? I never asked. I thought you didn’t—“ He stopped as Prompto firmly pressed down on his shoulders, pushing him onto the lip of the fountain. His hands lowered, and the crowns lay between them, draped across his legs. “Prom, you’re getting kind of weird.”

“I said, that isn’t my _name._ ” Prompto took a deep breath. Another. He clenched his hands on Noct’s shoulders, digging into the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Solaris,” he said. Noct tilted his head slightly, blinked slow.

“That’s nice,” he said, with approval.

“Nox Fleuret.”

Behind them, there was a gentle shush of water rushing past a gondola. A child shrieked down the stair, and their mother’s voice rose in admonishment. Banners flapped listlessly in a breeze from the sea, and the distant roar of the walls of water ran through it all, constant and unchanging.

The world should have been different. There should have been a clap of thunder. A roiling in the sea. A tremor in the earth. It shouldn’t have been just the two of them, sitting on a stone fountain at the center of the plaza, woven flowers easing their way from Noct’s slack fingers.

Noct sat in silence, waiting for his brain to catch up with his ears. No. Prompto was—was _Prompto._ But there had been that picture over the mantle of his house, and that weird wall of photos of the Tenebraen palace. There was the desk drawer he’d never let Noct open. All the words he’d left unsaid, in awkward pauses and full stops. Now that Noct looked at him, he could see the line of Luna’s face along his cheeks, the same eyes, the soft hair and expressive mouth…

_He’s been trying to tell me all evening,_ Noct thought, and his stomach twisted in horrible guilt.

Gods, he’d been a fool.

“How long?” he asked. “How long did you know?”

“Almost forever,” Prompto said. He looked wretched. His cheeks were flushed a mottled red, and his face was screwed up in the way Noct recognized as Prompto trying his hardest not to cry. “I wanted to tell you. After Insomnia fell. When you made the covenant with Ramuh. After we saw Ravus. A million times. But I was so scared that it would get out, it would distract you from what you have to do, or Niflheim would hurt Luna or Ravus…” his breath stuttered a moment, and he closed his eyes.

“You probably hate me,” he said, in a small voice. “ _I_ hate me. I lied to you, and it, it got so big, I didn’t know how to… And tomorrow, you’re supposed to fight the Leviathan, and you just, just got—“ he gestured helplessly to the crowns.

“Woah. Easy, Promp—“ Noct stopped, hands raised to Prompto’s face. “Do you still want me to call you Prompto?”

“Call me whatever.” Prompto’s voice was deadened and inflectionless.

“No,” Noct said. He held Prompto’s cheeks in both hands. “Don’t start this. I get it. I do. And I don’t hate you.” He kissed Prompto on the cheek, and drew back. “I love you, whoever you are.”

Prompto let out a weak laugh.

“Come on,” Noct said. He scooped up the crowns in one hand. “Let’s go back to the Leville. You can tell me everything on the way.”

Prompto tried. It came out backwards, mostly, and Noct had to pick apart the timeline with careful questions and requests to back up and start over. When Prompto reached his capture by the Empire, Noct saw how he started to shake, and quietly suggested they save that for another time. Finally, Noct pulled the rest out of him while they sat on the balcony outside of their rented rooms, overlooking the waterfront.

“Damn,” he said, after a while. “You’re right, though. The Empire—We’ve seen what they’ve tried to do with Luna, and that’s just because she’s my friend.”

Prompto was silent for a moment.

“Sorry you got the crowns for nothing,” he said, at last. Noct gave him a puzzled look, and he frowned. “What?”

“Nerd,” Noct said, affectionately. Prompto opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t seem to find the words. Noctis got up and moved his chair so that he was facing Prompto, and reached for the crowns again. He held one loosely in his hands.

“Let me do it right this time,” he said.

“Solaris Nox Fleuret. Will you bind your heart to mine, in the eyes of the gods?”

“Soul,” Prompto said, in a soft voice. “It’s ‘bind your soul—‘”

“Godsdamnit, we’re having a _moment,_ here.”

“Yes,” Prompto said, but it came out as more of a laugh than an actual word. “Yes.”

Noct gave him a reproachful look, which made him laugh again, and lowered the crown around Prompto’s ears.

Prompto lifted the second crown in trembling fingers, and held it over Noct. “Will. Will you, Noctis Lucis Caelum—“

“Yes,” said Noct.

“Bind your soul—“

“Yes.”

“to—“

“Yes.”

Prompto lowered his hands to cover Noct’s mouth with his wrist. “Mine, in the eyes of the gods,” he said, quickly, and raised his hands again.

“ _Yes,_ ” Noct said. Prompto pulled a face at him and settled the crown over his hair.

“There,” Noct told him. “We’re married.”

“Technically, we need someone to officiate—“

There was a cough from behind them, and Prompto turned to see Ignis stepping out from behind a folding screen.

“Fucking hells!” he cried. “How did you get there?”

“I’ve been here for some time,” Ignis said, raising his eyebrows. “Also, _Nox Fleuret?_ ”

“We’ll explain later,” said Noct.

“Damn right, you will.” That was Gladio, standing at the doorway behind him. “Also, I called it, Iggy. Knew the kid had a secret."

"Yes, well, you thought he was from _Niflheim,_ so the bet’s off,” said Ignis. He attempted to recover his dignity, and pulled out his phone. “Right. As of this afternoon, I was ordained by the Rite of the Six. Amazing what one can do with the right search engine. Sign here, Pro—Sola—Ah…”

“Prompto’s fine,” said Prompto, but he scribbled a different name on the screen of Ignis’ phone.

“And you, Your Majesty.” Noct grimaced at the title, but signed as well. “Wonderful. Well. By the power vested in me by the internet, you are now officially wed. Congratulations.”

Gladio applauded slowly.

Noct looked from Gladio to Ignis, and rose from his seat. “Give them the short version, Prom,” he said. “I’m getting the cake.”

“Traitor,” Prompto choked, as Noct laughed his way to the kitchen. He sighed and turned to the others. “Right. So. It’s like this…”

Noct came back with the cake, which Ignis had made, and they drank cheap champagne, which Ignis had bought, and Gladio spent fifteen minutes bemoaning the fact that he had to look after _two_ obnoxious princes now until Noct threatened him with exile. Ignis made a toast and cried halfway through it, which made Prompto burst into ugly tears, and then Gladio made a much shorter toast that involved more curse words than should have actually fit. Eventually, Prompto did tell them about his meeting with the Oracle, though he seemed a little vague on some of the details, and the others said nothing of it when he started crying again. Finally, Noct and Prompto retired to their room, which was separated by a connecting door to Ignis and Gladio’s, and made careful work of undressing without disturbing their crowns.

“They’re supposed to stay on until it’s been consummated,” Prompto said, when Noct complained for the third time.

“Man, way too late for that.”

Prompto laughed, and pulled Noct the rest of the way to the bed.

They ended up tangled in bits of flower and strands of reeds, and white petals stuck in Prompto’s hair and trailed down Noct’s back. Prompto looked like some sort of forest god in the low lamplight, his hair wild, greenery shaking down onto his shoulders as he lowered himself onto Noct. The wiry muscles of his arms tensed, and he tilted his head back, letting the light spill down the curve of his neck and trace along the fingers that clutched at Noctis’ hair. Noct kissed his jaw as he settled at last, and pressed firm hands to his hips to lift him up again, over him, always over him. Prompto’s lips parted, and flowers fell from his hair onto Noct’s face and chest. Noct let Prompto set the pace, and wrapped warm fingers around him, pulling him into his own release as Noct found his. And all the time, Noct whispered his husband’s true name, like a prayer, a benediction.

_Solaris. Solaris._


	10. Chapter 10

Of course the covenant went wrong. This was the _Leviathan._ Prompto had _expected_ it to go wrong.

The seas surrounding Altissia churned as the monstrous goddess rose from the depths, thrashing and hissing at the Oracle below. Prompto only got brief glimpses of the Leviathan—a tail flicking past a pillar here, a gaping maw screeching into the sky there—but he was certain Luna and Noctis could handle it. His job was to make sure that civilians had a clear path of escape.

It was almost too easy, really.

Prompto kept at a distance, drawing MT soldiers into electrical mines he’d placed along the East bridge. When the more watchful of the MTs discovered the ruse, they called in reinforcements on sputtering flying machines, like deformed motorcycles, which Prompto cheerily shot out of the sky.

At last, the path was clear. Prompto glanced to the waterfront, where the sea goddess screamed in rage, and bit down on his tongue. Noct could handle it, sure, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a little more firepower… He eyed one of the abandoned flying machines on the bridge, and ran towards it.

And was pulled back just as he reached for the handle. The grip on the back of his collar was so firm that Prompto nearly fell, and he held his gun like a baton in his fist, swinging it round to bludgeon his attacker from behind—

Ravus Nox Fleuret ducked to the side, cursing, and shook Prompto like a rag doll.

“Oh!” Prompto said, pushing down the sudden realization that he’d nearly cracked his brother’s skull by accident. “F-fancy meeting _you_ here!”

“How _hard_ must I work to keep the two of you _alive?_ ” Ravus asked. Prompto, giddy with adrenaline, only beamed up at him.

“Missed you, too, Ravus.”

Ravus stepped back and lifted his hands to the heavens. Then he gripped Prompto’s shoulder in his right hand, drawing him close for half a breath before breaking apart again. He searched Prompto’s eyes, as though calculating his chances of coming out of this unscathed. “I must find Luna,” he said, at last. “For pity’s sake, be _careful._ ”

“I knew you cared,” Prompto said. Ravus’ face fell, and for a split second, he looked much younger, more like the boy Prompto remembered. He held out a hand to Prompto for a moment, and touched the tips of the hair that flew in his eyes. Then he withdrew, his scowl firmly in place.

“I’ll make sure she’s safe,” he said, and turned on his heel. Prompto watched Ravus run for the pier, then climbed onto the flying machine. Right. This shouldn’t be so hard. He looked down at the screen on the front of the control pad, just small enough for a barcode, and held his wrist to it. The engine roared to life.

“Well,” he said. “Looks like this thing’s good for _something._ ” He pressed his feet to the pedals and yanked at the throttle, rising to the air with a shout. Time to find the King, and bring this battle to a close.

 

\---

 

Four hours later, the world had ended.

Prompto knew that Noct had woken up by the sound of feet racing heavily down the hall outside, and the hushed voices of Gladio and Ignis in the room they’d found for him. Prompto knew that he should go to him. Noct _needed_ him, now that everything had fallen to ruin. But Prompto’s legs felt like they’d been weighted by lead, and the thought of standing, walking to the door, and dragging his useless body down the hall, was too daunting to contemplate. He barely had the energy to keep his eyes open, but at least he managed that. He watched the floodwaters push against the drowned streets of Altissia, desperately searching for the faintest flicker of white cloth.

Ravus had said he was going after her. Where was he? Lost, also, in the waters of Altissia? Or was he somewhere out there, as exhausted as Prompto, trying to adjust to life without her?

He couldn’t even bring himself to think of her name.

It took a while for the door to open, but Prompto had been expecting it. He didn’t turn to look.

“Prom.” Noct’s voice, hoarse with tears. He knew.

“I thought one of the Astrals would save her,” Prompto said. His own voice sounded foreign and strange. “The Titan. Ramuh, maybe. Ramuh liked her, I could tell. They couldn’t just let her die. She’s… She’s important. Not just to me.”

“I know,” Noct said. Prompto could feel warmth at his side, and saw Noct reflected in the window, looking gaunt and ghostlike. He closed his eyes. “Prom, Ignis said you tried to go after her. He said you _jumped a balcony._ ”

“Wasn’t enough,” Prompto said.

“You could have _died._ ” Noct’s voice shook, and Prompto flinched as warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him from the window. “Look at me. Come on, Prompto. Solaris.”

“I don’t deserve that,” Prompto whispered. “I couldn’t even find her _body._ ”

“Okay,” Noct said. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” He grabbed Prompto by the chin and gently turned his head round. “We’re going to eat. We’re going to talk to Ignis, because I think he needs it as much as you do. We’ll avoid Gladio, because he looks like he’s about to kill someone, and we’ll lie down and talk about Luna. Or not,” he added, when Prompto’s face crumpled. “But we’ll have to, eventually.”

“I’m sorry,” Prompto said. “You lost her, too. And… and the ring. She had the ring, and it’s gone with her…”

“Not quite,” said Noct, with a grimace. He dug in his back pocket and held out the black-veined ring of the Lucii, gleaming in the low light of the borrowed room. “I don’t know if I can put it on.”

Prompto tried to push past the cluttered mess of his mind. Luna would know what to say. She’d told _Prompto_ what to say, years ago, but now that he spoke the words aloud, they felt hollow.

“You won’t need to wear it for long, Noct.” He risked a look into his eyes, then away. “It won’t be like it was with your dad. When its purpose is done, it’ll be over. You won’t have to wear it anymore.”

_Because you’ll be dead,_ he thought, staring at his husband’s stricken face. _I should have never found that dog in Insomnia. I should have grown up not knowing._

“It’ll hurt, though,” Noct said.

What an understatement.

“Yeah.” Prompto picked up the ring, twisting it in his fingers. “But not forever.”

Noct took a breath, and placed his hand over Prompto’s. Prompto realized what he was asking, and his heart twisted in his chest.

“You don’t have to.”

“That’s a lie,” Noct said, with a smile. Prompto cursed himself. If he hadn’t interfered, Noct wouldn’t be asking for this. He could have more time, maybe. A chance to breathe. Prompto held his gaze with his own and slowly, slowly, slipped the ring onto the third finger of Noct’s right hand.

Noct closed his eyes and doubled over into Prompto’s arms. He sat there a moment, breathing heavily, and it was a long while before he straightened again.

“Right,” he said, and his eyes flickered with the violet light of ancient magic. “It’s done. Let’s go see Ignis.”

And so, against what felt like all the laws of the universe, Prompto let the King pull him to his feet and guide him out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

Prompto didn’t even make it to Tenebrae. 

They boarded a train for Gralea, which was set to stop at Tenebrae on the way, and everyone agreed that they would take a minute at least to visit the palace. Prompto knew they were doing it for his sake, if not for Noct’s, but couldn’t find the words to express what that meant to him. He settled for playing a subdued game of Kings Knight with Gladio, who kept giving him cautious, wary looks, like he was a bomb that could go off at any moment. 

Ignis’ initial distress over his injuries was, as could be expected of the man, short lived. He had an unsettling ability to push his own concerns aside in such a way that when he returned to them, they didn’t loom as large as they had before. It took two apps and an hour for Ignis to become an expert in every type of walking aid he could possibly ever need, and they all stopped at every station just to see if any vendors sold something _quite_ like what he was looking for. He found a suitable substitute, and only snapped a _little_ at the man who tried to sell him a short cane meant for traversing smooth sidewalks in close quarters.

“Honestly,” he said, as they ate in the dining car. “What does he expect me to do with _that?_ ”

“I don’t think he expected people to want to wander around in flooded caves,” Gladio said, in his infinite patience. Ignis made one last grunt of disapproval before he went back to cataloging yet another recipe from the menu to recreate at a later time. 

At dinner, the radio alerted them to the news that General Ravus was to be tried for crimes against the state. The others turned to Prompto, and he abruptly left the car for the safety of their sleeping quarters. He stayed there for the rest of the evening, and the others tiptoed around him in hushed silence as they prepared for bed.

By the time night fell (and it fell so quickly, now), they were all too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Noct and Prompto shared a tiny bunk near the floor, and lay tangled up in each other, heads close, fingers locked in a tight grip. Throughout the night, Prompto would wake to find Noct staring at him, one hand in his hair, his gaze unreadable and far too old. Was it the ring that had done this to him, or the events of Altissia? Prompto could feel him drawing further and further away, into someone unrecognizable from the young man he’d been when they first met, and it was excruciating to watch. 

The next day, Ardyn returned. 

First came Noct’s bizarre behavior in the dining car. Prompto caught on early that something was wrong—Noct wasn’t looking at _him,_ but at something slightly above his shoulders, as though he were trying to fight a taller man. And the way he spoke… It wasn’t right. Prompto hated it, but he had to whip around and knock him unconscious just to stop him from taking it too far. He waited for Noct to wake, and breathed a sigh of relief when he looked blearily up at him and cried, “Prompto? Where’s Ardyn?”

So _that_ explained it. Prompto covered Noct as they fought the oncoming MT soldiers that stormed the train, and climbed to the roof of the car to take out the explosive units before they could reach the tracks. Meanwhile, Noct swarmed the carriers, wrecking them in great blooms of fire and black smoke. Prompto would have stopped to watch if it hadn’t been for the heat of a presence at his side. He turned his gun on Ardyn, who bared his teeth and raised both hands in surrender. 

“You _killed_ her,” Prompto said, fury stinging at the backs of his eyes. His finger curled around the trigger. “You deserve worse than this.” 

“Hardly fitting behavior for a prince,” Ardyn said, tutting sadly. Prompto made to fire, and the gun flew from his grip as a powerful force struck his back, sending him tumbling from the roof of the train. For one moment, he thought he could see Noctis staring down at him in horror as the train sped away, but he had no time to register what that meant before his head struck the ground and darkness closed in around him.

 

\----

 

Prompto woke to the sound of boots clacking on a metal floor, and the drag of a raised grate against his clothes. 

“Ah! His highness awakes.” That voice was familiar. Where had he heard it before? It took a moment for his vision to adjust to the darkness, and he could just make out the outline of a hat against the glowing red lights that streamed on either side of him. 

“Ardyn,” he said. His head throbbed, and he found that he was being dragged by the arms down a hallway that seemed almost as familiar as the chancellor’s voice. He struggled to his feet, and the chancellor hummed appreciatively. 

“Much better,” he said. “I’m not as young as I once was. Carrying you all this way was _such_ an ordeal.”

“Won’t last much longer,” Prompto said, and summoned his weapon.

It didn’t appear.

He tried again. His hand remained empty, locked in Ardyn’s vicelike grip. The chancellor turned to him, and his teeth flashed in the dark. 

“Let’s not be rude,” he said. Then pain seared through Prompto as something dug into the sensitive flesh of his ankle. He twisted round, and saw a fallen MT soldier twisting knife-like fingers into Prompto’s skin, trying to drag him back and out of Ardyn’s hold. Prompto kicked at it, and after a frantic, desperate minute of sheer panic, managed to pull himself away. 

“You should be more careful where you’re going, your highness,” said Ardyn. “This place isn’t as well-run as it was the last time you were here.”

The last time—?

Prompto stared at the red lights along the walls as Ardyn pulled him forward. He knew those lights. They were the warning signals of MT units, to let the doctors and engineers know when an MT or daemon test subject had been decommissioned. Once, years ago, Prompto had looked out into the dark through the grille of one of those very units. 

Ardyn noticed Prompto’s moment of terrified stillness. “Oh, yes,” he said. “ _Now_ you remember.”

Prompto lost count of the number of times he tried to escape. Once, as they walked through a well-lit control room, he managed to wrench a hand free, but Ardyn simply twisted his trapped arm so painfully that Prompto could barely focus enough to do more than pull at door frames and cell bars as they passed. He was making so much noise that he didn’t even notice the shadowy figure in the corner of the closest cell before it was almost too late.

The man in the cell lurched to his feet, his magitech arm hanging limp and useless at his side.

“Ravus.” Prompto’s voice was little more than a rasp. Had he been screaming? He couldn’t remember. Prompto grabbed his brother’s good hand through the bars of the cell and dropped to a dead weight, trying to heave himself out of Ardyn’s grip. Ravus squeezed his fingers, and he worked his jaw as though it pained him to speak. 

“Don’t let’s start misbehaving _now,_ children,” Ardyn said, and yanked Prompto free, dragging him by his foot the rest of the way into the connecting cell. “You’ll be close enough, soon.” Prompto thrashed and kicked, trying once more to summon his weapon, and let out a strangled shout at the sight of the standing metal cross that lay at an angle in the center of the cell.

“Be good,” Ardyn warned. “Not that it will change anything. Up we go, little princeling.”

Prompto renewed his struggle as he was held up against the cross, and metal bindings snapped over his wrists and legs. 

“Leave him, Ardyn.” Ravus’ voice was ragged. He glanced over to see Ravus straining to stand on trembling legs. “He did nothing to you.”

“I wouldn’t call holding a gun to my head _nothing,_ General.” Ardyn smiled indulgently and pulled out a long, curved knife from the confines of his jacket. “Now. How many years has it been since you so rudely left our hospitable Empire, dear one? Let us count together.”

“Solaris,” Ravus said, as the knife traced down Prompto’s collar. “Look at me. You’ll be fine, Sol. You’ll be fine.”

Prompto nodded, and clenched his fingers around the bindings at his wrists, and waited for the cool touch of steel on his skin.

 

“Solaris. There isn’t time. Please.”

Ravus. He sounded so broken, so unlike the official voice that Prompto had listened to on the radio in Insomnia. Prompto wanted to say something back, but his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth, and he was having a hard time opening his eyes. Something—cloth?—swiped over his lids, and he blinked slowly. 

Ravus stood beneath him, holding a bloodied sleeve to Prompto’s cheek. Right. Prompto’s thoughts felt as heavy as the rest of him. He’d lost count of the cuts, hadn’t he, and Ardyn had to start over… He started to slip back into the grey fog from which he’d risen, but Ravus’ hand clenched in his hair, pulling him out.

“Sol, please. He’s giving us a minute at best.”

“Ravus,” Prompto whispered. He searched for the right words, and reached for the closest he could find. “I couldn’t save Luna. I tried. I’m so sorry.” 

Ravus’ face twisted, and Prompto wished he knew him well enough to understand. “I’m the eldest. Protecting _you_ should have been my job. You must think me such a failure.”

“No.” The fog was starting to lift. Prompto flexed his fingers, and Ravus reached out to take his hand. “You were brave.”

“Stay alive for me,” Ravus said. He released his hand, and brushed at the hot tears that ran down Prompto’s cheeks. His fingers came away stained with red, like ink. “You always were so quick to cry. It will be… It will be better if I know you live. Help the King. Don’t let this be the end of us, Sol.”

“It isn’t the end,” Prompto said. “I promise.”

Ravus kissed him on the forehead, and ran his hand through Prompto’s hair one last time before turning to Ardyn.

“I’m ready,” he said. 

“No,” Ardyn replied, as he ushered Ravus out of the cell. “I am afraid to say you are not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry  
> I'm a monster  
> don't look at me


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, because I actually do NOT like to suffer THAT much.

“Prompto!” 

Prompto looked up to see Noct— _Noct_ —stumbling into the cell, Gladio and Ignis at his heels. He wasn’t so lost in the pain anymore: Ardyn’s attentions had been more to hurt Ravus than anything, and the cuts on his skin were shallow, already starting to heal. Prompto watched dully as Noct struggled with the locking mechanism, and let himself fall to the ground when the bindings clicked open. Noct helped him stand, and he ran his fingers along the King’s creased brow.

“Knew you’d get here,” he said, in a voice so dry it cracked. Noct kissed him once, deeply, and glanced down.

“Hells,” he said. “Your clothes are wrecked.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Prompto said. “I’m alive. Let’s find the crystal.”

“No,” said Noct. “Rest, first.” He swung an arm around Prompto’s shoulders, and Prompto was too dazed, too exhausted, too _lost_ to argue.

 

\---

 

They found Ravus on the way to the dorms. He was slumped against the wall, a sword some feet at his side, long gashes torn down his neck and chest. Prompto walked towards him and knelt at his side. There was something wrong with his magitech arm. A blackness grew there, sticky and glistening, running up the sides of his shoulder with the slow deliberation of a flower opening to the sun. 

His skin was cold, and his limbs were stiff, but when the blackness reached the veins of his neck, Ravus’ corpse let out the faintest tremor under his brother’s touch. 

Prompto knew what this was.

“We have to burn him,” he said, sitting back. 

“Prompto,” Gladio said, in a strange voice. He was too far to see. It didn’t matter.

“Now,” Prompto said. He turned to Noctis, who was standing a few feet away, over his shoulder. “Noct.”

“Come on, Prom.” Noct extended a hand to him, and in a twisted echo of their first meeting, Prompto let Noct pull him to his feet. He turned his back to his brother’s corpse as Noctis made a sharp gesture, and the heat of fire made the skin on the back of his arms and neck go tight. Another gesture, and even the heat and the acrid smell of smoke was gone. Prompto didn’t turn back to look, only led the way out of the door and away from the horror that burned behind a wall of pure magic.

When they reached a safe dorm at last, Noct eased Prompto down onto a bed and kissed him lightly before drawing away. Prompto responded with a sound that surprised even him, something anguished and soft and choking, and pulled Noct down with both arms. Noct kissed him again, and positioned himself so that he was lying over him, running his calloused hands down Prompto’s neck. Next to them, on one of the other beds, Ignis and Gladio turned to give each other troubled glances.

“It’s going to be terrible,” Prompto said, into Noct’s mouth.

“Shh. It’s alright.” Noct’s words sounded too much like Ravus’, and Prompto shivered. “I won’t let it happen again.”

“You won’t have a choice.” Prompto felt like something had snapped, back in that cell with Ardyn, with Ravus. He couldn’t keep anything in anymore. “The crystal, it’ll take so much out of you. I can’t _lose_ you, Noctis. I’m so _tired_ of _losing._ ”

“I know.” Noct rolled them to their sides, and held Prompto close. “I know. So am I.” 

“You’re prepared for this,” Prompto said, pressing his lips to Noct’s shoulder. “ _I’m_ not. All this time, I never even tried to be.”

Noct held him for the next hour. He whispered soothing words that did nothing, but still had to be said, and looked up over Prompto’s shoulder towards Ignis and Gladio. Something passed between them, a promise, an unspoken vow. When this was over, they would make sure that Prompto, at least, was safe. 

It was the last command that Noctis would make as King for many years. 

 

\---

 

Prompto stood on the raised platform where the crystal was held, staring into the glimmering surface of the stone into which his lover, his husband, his _King,_ had disappeared. He knew this was supposed to happen. He knew how long it would be before Noct would come back to him. He knew that there was nothing that could be done. But even so, even as the light of the crystal started to pulse with the stirrings of its true purpose, he turned to face the engineer of all of his misfortune and fired a bullet into the back of his head. 

Ardyn stumbled, but did not fall. Prompto tried to hold back, to let him go, but he fired again, into Ardyn’s back, again, into his side, again, at the base of his spine. Ignis was holding him, trying to wrench the gun from his hands, and still Ardyn walked on, unaffected and unafraid.

_So am I,_ Prompto thought, staring after him. He hoped he could hear, hoped he could sense the challenge that burned in his eyes. _So am I._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really AM sorry about this one.  
> I just... really didn't want Prompto and crew to have to fight him. And now I'm not sure which is worse.


	13. Chapter 13

The darkness was immediate. 

Prompto, Ignis, and Gladio held no illusions. Only those who happened to be in the safety of outposts, safe havens, or cities with high reserves of power were likely to have survived. Still, they stopped the train at every station they could, and Gladio and Prompto took turns on the roof, taking out daemons that tried to prey on the rear cars as they hurtled through the dark. At Tenebrae, they picked up nearly two hundred people still watching the smoking wreckage of the palace, and Prompto only got one look before he took the risk of running past the spotlights and towards the gates. Biggs and Wedge kept the train stalling until Prompto came back, followed by a handful of the only people he could find. When he climbed aboard the front car, he saw the faces of the passengers turn towards him, expectant. 

“We told them,” Ignis whispered. “It was the only way to convince them to board.”

An older woman in a dark blue dress walked up to him and raised a hand to call him forward. Prompto stepped close, and leaned down when she waved her hands. She barely touched his chin, lifting it to the light.

“Forty-seven years I lived in the palace,” she said. “I know faces. I know _your_ face.”

“I’m sorry,” Prompto said. “I think I’ve forgotten yours.”

“Cheek,” she said, and they exchanged weak smiles. “There. That’s her. That’s the Queen, right there.” 

Prompto stood, and a rush of sound rose throughout the survivors of Tenebrae, all rounded vowels and grinning teeth and something like hope.

_Solaris._

 

In the years that followed, Prompto learned to don and shed names like a cloak. To Ignis, Gladio, and Iris, he would always be Prompto. To the refugees of Tenebrae, he was _your highness, Solaris,_ and sometimes a word in their own dialect that meant _young king._ He slowly fumbled through lessons in the language taught by much amused elders, who soon showed deference to him in title only. Over time, most of Lestallum caught on, and he learned to stop flinching every time someone greeted him as _Prince Solaris!_ or _your highness._

He helped expand the boundaries of the city, setting up daemon wards along the fences that housed what livestock could be saved and what crops could be grown. He teasingly promoted a young boy to “Minister of Defense” for setting up a series of alarm bells along the perimeter, and quickly grew to respond to the peal of a bell with a hand to his weapon and a foot out the door. He helped build houses and sheds for refugees, was taught how to fix plumbing, and was known to be handy with all things electrical early on. 

Mostly, though, he went on trips out into the dark.

At first, it was to find stragglers. Then it was to protect distant outposts when needed, beat down daemons that preyed on the pylons leading out from the Meteor, and finally, distract himself from the days that stretched towards the hour in which Noct would return.

He met with Gladio and Ignis as much as possible, and was barely surprised when they announced that they’d been dating for years.

“You two were so obvious, we figured we might want to hold off until the drama settled,” Gladio said once, as they all relaxed in their shared room in North Lestallum. Ignis, scrounging together a tart at the oven with a minor culinary miracle and a lot of hope, smiled faintly.

“Noctis will be surprised to find he’s not the only king in town when he returns,” Ignis said. Prompto looked at him sharply.

“No one calls me that.”

“They do,” said Gladio. “Trust me, I’m an ears to the ground kind of guy. And honestly, Prom? You’re starting to act like one. That business with the judiciary council you set up?”

“Everyone was arguing!” Prompto said. “It made sense to have a system, and I don’t appoint anyone. They’re elected.”

“Yeah,” said Gladio. “But _they_ go to _you_ for advice.”

“A terrible idea, really,” teased Ignis. “And then there’s that patrol you set up with Cor and Iris.”

“ _With_ them,” Prompto insisted. Ignis tilted his head as though to say, _no difference,_ and Prompto frowned.

Gladio was right. Prompto figured that if you set Gladio down in the middle of an unknown country without a clue to their language, the man would know the ins and outs of every social norm within a week. Soon enough, he started to hear the whisper of _Your Majesty_ in the voices of the people he passed on the street. It was unsettling at first, but Prompto had learned that you had to be adaptable in all things, those days. So he let it go, and talked to people the way he always did, and kept himself busy.

Once or twice, someone would try to catch his eye, and he always politely turned them down. Eventually, it stopped happening. Prompto wondered aloud, one evening, if it had to do with the beard he was trying to grow, and had made the older Tenebrean man he was drinking with burst out laughing.

“Astrals, no,” said the man, a carpenter named Joss. “Though it does have some scraggle, if you don’t mind my saying, Your Majesty.”

“What is it, then?” Prompto let the comment, and the title, slide. “You seem to know.”

“Well.” Joss hummed. “Word’s got round. About your man.” Prompto raised his eyebrows. “They say it’s the King. The Lucian one, who’s in the—“ He made a wavering motion with his hand. “Other place.”

“It’s not like it’s a secret,” Prompto said. He just didn’t talk about it to anyone but Ignis and Gladio, save for a mention here or there.

“Yes, but it isn’t right,” said Joss. “You working so hard, people shouldn’t bring up something that’ll bring you pain to think of.”

“It isn’t painful,” Prompto said, with a bemused smile. “But thanks.” He left his company feeling thoughtful and just a little touched, and made a point to talk about Noctis more.

 

He was on a salvaging trip with Ignis and Gladio when they got the call.

_He’s here,_ said Talcott’s voice over their van radio. _I found him at the Quay. Bringing him to Hammerhead now._

“Noct!” Prompto had shouted, but the radio had already gone silent. Ignis and Gladio grinned at him, and he clung to the side of the car, legs jostling the seat in a torrent of nerves. 

“Damn,” Gladio said, after a minute. “It’s like you’re gonna burst.”

“I _feel_ like it,” Prompto said. He turned to the others. “Don’t you?”

“Something like that,” said Ignis. Gladio grunted. Prompto sat up in his seat and clenched his fingers in his lap. Ten years of waiting, and yet the two hours of driving that it took to get to Hammerhead felt obscenely _long._ He rolled out of the van before Gladio could even park, and scanned the outpost, his heartbeat thrumming frantic in his ears.

“Hey, you.” 

He turned, wild-eyed, and barely got a glimpse of a fine beard, clear eyes, and a familiar grin before he wrapped his arms around the chosen King of Light and backed him into the side of Talcott’s truck.

At their right, Talcott awkwardly shifted, looking away. Gladio and Ignis stepped out of the van with twin sighs of resignation, and somewhere, someone held back what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. 

When Prompto and Noctis finally came up for air, Prompto asked, “Hey, you? Hey _you?_ ”

“Alright, that’s enough,” said Gladio, and the two of them were wrenched away from the truck and pulled into the kind of embrace that could crack ribs. Ignis tried to keep it respectable with a clap on the shoulder, but Gladio made a sort of growling noise in the back of his throat, and the four of them collapsed in a tangle of limbs and dust and laughter.

“I get it,” Noct said at last, from the middle of the pile. “I missed you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGS, GDI
> 
> HUGS


	14. Chapter 14

Noctis insisted on a shower and at least half a tube of toothpaste before he could even _think_ about talking to anyone at length, and the others, after glancing at his considerably grimy and bloodstained appearance, reluctantly agreed. Prompto waited outside the bathroom door for all of forty-five seconds, slapping a half-hearted rhythm on his thighs, before he heard Noct shout, “Fuck’s sake, Prompto, it’s been _ten years!_ ” and immediately pulled a not very apologetic look at Gladio, slipped through the bathroom door, and nearly twisted Noct’s ankle in his enthusiasm to join him. 

They wasted all the hot water and broke the ornamental soap-dish, but it was worth it.

Noct refused to let go of Prompto for the rest of the evening. He ran a hand down his back as they tried to fit ten years of catching up into the space of a few hours, idly ran his fingers through his hair, and even stopped for a moment to kiss the side of his neck, right in full view of everyone. 

“A decade of being stuck in a crystal can teach you amazing things about letting go of your shame,” he said, and kissed Prompto full on the mouth, teasing his lower lip with his teeth. 

“They’re like teenagers,” Gladio said. “Tell me we were never like that.” Ignis snorted inelegantly. 

They spent the first night in the caravan, though after a while, Gladio and Ignis opted to sit outside and pretend that they were entirely unaware of the sounds emanating from within. Noct made love like a man possessed, and Prompto came undone under his hands, red-faced and breathless and ridiculously happy. He tried to return the favor, but when he rose over Noct and ran his hands up his back, Noctis looked at him with eyes overflowing with tears. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “You’re so—Gods. If you could see yourself.”

“I never brought you to tears before,” Prompto said, disengaging to kiss Noct’s warm cheeks. “Should I be flattered?”

“I just missed you,” Noct said. “I still miss you.”

“I know,” said Prompto, and the weight of their meaning settled between them, heavy and resolute. He kissed him softly, tenderly, and settled his hands on his too-thin hips. “But you’re here now, and you’re mine. For as long as we have.” 

“Sap,” said Noct, and grinned at Prompto’s look of outrage. They moved at last to the bed, where Noct fell asleep with his arms around Prompto’s middle, and Prompto stayed awake for a very long while, gently running a hand down his husband’s soft, dark hair.

 

\---

 

Less than twenty hours later, Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto watched their King climb the high steps to the throne room.

“This is it,” Gladio said.

“It’s almost over,” said Ignis.

_Not yet,_ Prompto thought, turning his back to the man he loved. Before him, the ground boiled as daemons rose from the depths, speckled blue and purple in the endless dark. 

“Iron Giants,” Prompto said, for Ignis’ benefit. “Really.”

“I’m almost insulted,” said Ignis. They summoned their weapons one last time, and threw themselves into the fight, trying not to think of their friend and King standing alone before the throne of Lucis.

Only a few minutes after Noctis ascended to the throne room, a blast of light burst from the Citadel, rolling over the city like a churning wave. As it passed, daemons dissolved in a chorus of screeches and shrieks, an eerie wailing that reverberated through the empty city streets. The daemons they fought had already been felled, and were dissipating as though exposed to the light of the sun. Gladio and Ignis cried out in wordless triumph, but their voices died as Prompto swayed on unsteady feet and collapsed on the steps.

“Prompto!” Gladio left the sputtering remains of an Iron Giant and held him by the shoulders, easing him up. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Ignis pressed a hand to Prompto’s forehead and frowned. “He’s hot to the touch.”

Prompto tried to breathe, but it felt as though his lungs were trying to slowly pull out of his chest. Even when he was young, and his body had been racked with seizures and chills, he hadn’t experienced _this._ There was even a strange _taste_ to the air, like electricity, or—

Magic.

But Prompto didn’t _have_ magic. That belonged to Noctis, who even now was likely passing over to the astral plane, lost to him forever. Yet that was odd, as well. The thought should have worried him, devastated him, but all Prompto could feel was that tugging in his chest, the heat of his skin, and the worrying knowledge that something had been left undone.

“We need to go to the throne,” Prompto said, when he could speak. 

“No,” Gladio said. “You can’t even stand.”

Prompto wrenched himself out of Gladio’s hands and forced himself to his feet. He took a step up the stairs, but then the pressure in his chest gripped him tight, and he fell. Ignis caught him this time. 

“Go with me or stay,” Prompto said, and doggedly tried to climb the next step. “I don’t care.”

Gladio sighed, and wrapped an arm around Prompto’s shoulder. Ignis took hold of his other side, and between the three of them, they ascended the steps to the throne room.

And froze. There, sitting on the throne, head bowed as though in sleep, was Noctis. Prompto staggered out of Ignis and Gladio’s hold, and the pressure around him seemed to snap, centering on the sword that was lodged in the king’s chest. 

“Gods,” Gladio said, in a broken voice.

“Do I want to know?” whispered Ignis.

_Gods indeed,_ thought Prompto. He ignored Gladio and Ignis’ warnings and stumbled forward, finding strength in his legs at last as he passed by the high pillars and balconies that framed the throne on either side. When he reached the dais, he bowed.

“The hell is he doing?” asked Gladio.

_He can’t see them,_ Prompto realized, as he gazed up at the luminous forms of the Astrals behind the throne. They gazed down at him with what he could only think of as disappointment, and Prompto wondered just what had caused this mood. Already, beyond the high windows, the greyness of true dawn was starting to break. Noct had done his duty and destroyed the Scourge. What else was there?

_King of Tenebrae,_ said one of the Astrals, in a high, wailing voice. _You have laid claim on the soul of the King of Light._

Prompto narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“What language was that?” Gladio hissed. Ignis shushed him.

_An oath was taken by the last Prince of Tenebrae and the King of Light, before the eyes of the Gods._ Bahamut’s voice was almost reproachful. _The King of Light’s soul is not in our keeping._

Prompto’s chest felt tight. An oath. He thought of the words he and Noctis had exchanged in Altissia, through stammered words and awkward laughter. Oaths were powerful in any form, but from the lips of a king of Lucis and a descendant of the Oracle? What power would such an oath hold, then?

“It’s in mine,” he said, wonderingly. “His soul is in _my_ keeping.”

_He can be returned to you,_ said Ramuh. _For a price._

“What is it?” Prompto asked. “Name it.”

The spectral forms of the Astrals shone against the ruined walls of the throne room. Their forms flickered, not quite solidifying, light streaming behind them as though they drifted in a distant sea. Prompto understood, then, the enormity of what this boon would cost.

A noble king would have rejected it. A selfless man would have turned aside. Noctis had already made this decision, when he accepted his role as the savior of Eos. Fifteen years ago, Prompto would have walked away with little more than bitter resignation.

Now, Prompto was not that man. 

“I accept the price,” he said, and climbed the narrow steps towards the throne.

_Form the covenant, and let it be done,_ said Bahamut. Light shone on the hilt of the sword in Noctis’ chest. Prompto stood before him, and gripped the hilt in both hands. 

The sword made a silken sound as it swung into the open air. 

Before Prompto, the Astrals were already fading, disappearing into the ether like so much dust. They would no longer bless the earth, air, or sea. No longer torment kings and oracles. They were the cost, and Prompto felt no regret as he knelt before the throne and pressed a hand to Noctis’ chest.

The wound was already starting to close. 

Color rose in Noct’s cheeks, and his lips parted as Prompto lay cool fingers on his neck. There. Faint, but present, the steady thrum of a heart.

“Noctis,” Prompto said. “Noctis.”

The King of Light opened his eyes, and gazed down at the man kneeling at his feet.

“Solaris,” he said. His hands trailed down, brushing the King of Tenebrae’s jaw, and lifted him into a firm and fervent kiss. “You irreverent nerd.”

“Stubborn ass,” said his husband, and kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-----
> 
> THAT'S RIGHT, FOLKS
> 
> THE SECRET TO HAPPY ENDINGS:
> 
> GAY MARRIAGE  
> (and sacrificing all the gods in your world but whatever)


	15. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised an epilogue, didn't I?

**Tenebrae, One Year Later:**

 

King Solaris Nox Fleuret had a different name, once. It was a fine name, a serviceable name, bright and airy as the pop and _hiss_ of the pistons of an engine: _Prompto._ It was a name he associated with the joy of discovery, the brush of soft white cotton, the tight grip of fingers through the bars of a cell. He hadn’t used that name in over a year, now, but when it was spoken, it still felt true.

Solaris clung to a sturdy white ladder, his scarred and calloused hands gently steadying a large panel of blue stained glass. Through its warped surface, he could see the once green stretch of garden where he and his siblings used to play, back before their world had been upturned. The earth was raw and dark now, freshly seeded, and it would take a few months before it would look anything like it had in the king’s hazy memory.

“Alright,” he said. “Ease it up.”

A man on a taller ladder to his right raised a chain, and Solaris fitted the window panel into brackets under the panel above it. When it was secure, resting in a quickly-hardening glue, He released it and peered up at the complete work. 

The window had a simple design—Many of the artisans from Tenebrae were lost in the dark years, and those who remained felt they had little reason to create windows for a day that might never come—but it was the first to be made in over a decade, and that was good enough for him. 

It depicted a blue lake, spotted with light, deliberate bubbles on the surface of the glass, over which three figures in white stood. He wondered if Ravus would have found it trite, too sentimental. Luna would have approved, at least. 

“You know,” said a voice beneath him. “You don’t have to do _everything_ yourself.”

He beamed down at the man standing at the base of the ladder, who leaned back, all lanky arms and feathered hair. “Thanks for the offer, Noct,” he said. “The tile needs regrouting, if you want to help.” 

King Noctis Lucis Caelum made a face at the aforementioned tile, and Solaris laughed.

“Don’t dish it if you can’t take it, oh moon of my heart.”

“I came all this way,” Noct said, taking on an affected tone, “and my husband wants me to _clean the tile._ You’re worse than Ignis, Sol.”

“I’d hope so.” Solaris heard the man on the other ladder suppress a laugh, and he gave the man a brief wink. He scrambled down the ladder in a way Ignis would probably find _very_ unbefitting of a monarch, and braced himself for impact as his husband dragged him into a tight embrace.

“It’s only been a few weeks,” said the blonde, smiling into Noct’s deep, dizzying kiss of welcome. Noctis let his touch speak for him, digging his fingers into his husband’s back, crushing the soft cotton of his shirt. 

“Felt like years,” Noct whispered, when he had disengaged enough to form a coherent sentence. 

Sol kissed the side of his cheek, smiling at the scrape of Noctis’ beard. King Noctis _was_ always anxious, these days, when he had to be away from any of his old retinue for long. While the survivors of Insomnia were desperate to find new homes away from Lestallum, the city of Insomnia remained desolate—No one dared set foot in its once proud streets. The memory of its time as a haven of daemons was too fresh, and Noctis himself couldn’t walk into the Citadel without employing a considerable effort. It was a haunted place, now, and Noct only returned with groups of trusted Hunters to salvage what technology and resources could be found. He was never gone more than a week or two, and had yet to complain of the long drive from Insomnia to Tenebrae.

“Oh, right,” Noctis said, pulling free of Solaris’ hold. “I found some people out by Galdin, holed up in a cave system.”

“Yeah?” Sol let the king take him by the arm and lead him out of the half-finished throne room, where the throne of Tenebrae was being moved to make room for another, slightly smaller throne. “Who were they?”

“Lucians, sort of,” Noct said. He grinned at his companion’s curious look, and guided him down a hall. It was open to the light outside, gaps in the ceiling covered in white tarp as carpenters worked on repairing the damage of an old fire. “One or two seemed to come from somewhere a little further off.”

He turned them into the small room Sol was using as his study, and Solaris’ fingers clenched painfully on the cloth of his sleeve.

“Prompto.” Caius Argentum stood from his seat at the window, brushing ash-grey hair from his eyes. “I’m so s—“ 

The King of Tenebrae stepped out of his husband’s hold and threw himself into the arms of the former MT research scientist of Niflheim.

“Caius,” he said, in a voice thick with tears. “Don’t you _dare._ ”

 

The official coronation of King Solaris and King Noctis was held later that year, when the sylleblossoms bloomed in the royal gardens for the first time since the snuffing of the sun. Caius stood just behind Solaris, next to Cor, and his mind-numbing anxiety was overridden by a trembling joy that had him weeping openly next to the somewhat unsettled Marshal. Ignis and Gladio stood at places of honor at the kings’ right and left sides, and Iris, the daemon-slayer of Lestallum, was the one who brought the crowns to the small pedestal before their thrones. 

Solaris’ formal crown was gold and spiked like the rays of the sun—Noctis’ was a replica of the silver, branch-like horn that had once been placed over his father’s temple. They crowned one another, formally unifying their countries at last, and the roar of applause that washed over them sounded muted and distant as they joined hands and spoke their vows of fealty to their people, their lands, and each other.

And that was when Solaris Nox Fleuret, with his husband’s hands in his and the weight of the golden crown pressing down his hair, looked into eyes as vivid as the blossoms at their feet, and knew that he was _home._


End file.
